Ooh, will it never end? Another shamelessly self promoting blog entry. Sorry.

Sinead from Breast Feeding Mum has been kind enough to admit to enjoying my Labour Day post so much she wanted to republish it on her very interesting and informative breast feeding site.

I was very humbled to be asked and only too pleased to agree. Thanks, Sinead.

Sadly, today was my first day back at work after two weeks paternity leave. More scarily (for her at least) it was Mrs C’s first day looking after Little P and Bernard by herself.

I wasn’t looking forward to going back as I had just got used to staying at home and sharing the responsibility of parenthood (i.e. I was just getting into the Jeremy Kyle Show). But I was also not looking forward to going back as I have a dead-end job that I take no real pleasure from, ho-hum.

Mrs C wasn’t looking forward to me going back because she’s worried about coping with a baby and the Tasmanian Devil by herself. This probably wouldn’t have had been too bad a week ago, Little P was sleeping soundly all day long giving Mrs C time to spend with Bernard. However, she’s taking some antibiotics at the moment and, thanks to the magic of biology, these are upsetting Little P’s stomach (or so says the Health Visitor). He now whiles away the hours screaming Marilyn Manson’s greatest hits - the noisy little beggar.

We both made it through though, just…

My day went fine. I spent the first 3 hours telling the same story 10 or 15 times. Fortunately it’s a good story so I didn’t mind. I then spent the rest of the day feeling half as if I had never been away (as is always the case when you come back from a “holiday”) and half as if I were going to fall asleep at my desk. I couldn’t really decide if this were because I was tired from Little P’s night feed or that my job is just that dull.

When I returned home, Mrs C looked absolutely knackered. She has very kindly decided that she will do all the nappy changes as well as the feed this week so I can get a bit more sleep. But after just one day, it seems to be taking it’s toll. Little P hadn’t settled all day, so Bernard hadn’t really had any attention and was on the edge of a destructive rampage. I held Peter to try to sooth him and for a while it worked. But he refused to be tricked into silence by a bit of gentle rocking and soon got back to the screaming.

We decided a walk was required.

The baby sling came into play and sent Little P off in under a minute. It seems to be up there with the pram and a trip in the car seat as excellent ways to get a baby to sleep. The walk did the trick for Bernard too and let him burn off some energy.

Will tomorrow be any better? I’m not sure but Mrs C finishes her course of antibiotics tomorrow, so maybe the day after that will see an improvement in Little P and consequently in her day. As for me, my days are always the same when I’m at work, regardless of how many antibiotics I take.

Yes, the putrid stump has at last fallen off and with it has gone the foul smell.

Whether it was simply to make us feel better or not, the midwife told us on Friday that she had never known a stump to hold on for so long, nor one to smell quite so bad. This was some relief as Mrs C and I had started to wonder whether we were simply over reacting to the stench. She advised us to smear some Vaseline on a piece of cotton wool and place it over the stump. This should soften up what was there (and hopefully mask the smell a bit).

The momentous occasion came when doing a nappy change on Saturday evening. It was there stuck to the cotton wool and beautiful little belly button beneath.

Oh, how Little P smells so much better!

Avid readers of this blog will know that when Little P finally popped his head out into this world he was 12 days overdue.

That meant he’d been been inside the amniotic fluid for just short of 9 and a half months. And just like when you spent a bit too long in the bath it made his hands and feet all wrinkly like prunes. We thought this was very adorable indeed - a little Californian Raisin of a boy.

As his skin started to dry out, however his hands and feet have turned into those of a hardy Norwegian fisherman’s. The cracks on his feet were so deep I thought they might actually bleed. They didn’t, of course; and now the cracks have gone to be replaced by flaky skin. A quick bit of research on the internet tells me that this is normal in babies and goes after (the ever ambiguous) “a few days”.

Well, it’s been 12 days and Little P’s skin is still so flaky (all over his body) that he is essentially a living, breathing flake of dandruff. If ever there were a market for Head and Shoulders to move into this is it (except they’d have to call it “Head and Shoulders and Arms and Legs and Chest and Neck” etc).

Worse of all though, is not giving in to the temptation to pick the bits of skin off. I bet it’s easier to quit smoking then it is to resist those tiny, flakes of skin.

When I read a few weeks back that Parents spend on average £2,628 on their child’s nursery, I threw my head back and let out a big self-satisfied laugh:

“Ho-ho, we haven’t spent anywhere near that!”

That’s not just because we are supremely tight but because we have no qualms about accepting 2nd hand things from people (also Mrs C’s parents bought most of the nursery furniture).

But back to 2nd hand things. The most expensive item that we got 2nd hand is a really nice Mama and Papa’s Freestyler Travel System (or pushchair come pram come car seat to you and I). Had we actually have paid for it, I would have cost us a fair chunk of that £2,628 that we saved on the nursery. But we didn’t pay for it so we were very happy. Except…

It doesn’t really work as a pram. Little P could easily slip out of the bottom if we hit the curb at high speed. There’s no way you can configure the Travel System so he will face you either. He’s always hidden behind the canopy. And finally, it’s quite bulky whe collapsed and the boot on our car is only small. After much soul searching, Mrs C and I both agreed that a withdrawal from the war chest was required.

Our hands were shaking as we both inserted our keys into the locks on the chest. On the count of three we unlocked it. Dust, moths and the smell of old but unused bank notes filled the air. Crikey, this was indeed a momentous occasion.

We took the money down to City Prams where the most patient and helpful shop keeper helped us decide between the Quinny Buzz (that automatically erects itself!) and the Bebe Comfort Loola.

Due to it’s small size when collapsed and the ease with which to put it up and down we plumped for the Bebe Comfort Loola. It does what we want and Mrs C could make it do all the things it was designed to do easily enough.

The only down side to the purchase was that I had to push the thing back to our house sans bebe. Like some crazed old bag lady. Oh well, at least that took my mind off actually spending some money on our son.

I knew these computer books would come in useful for something when I bought them:

Yep, propping up the head end of Little P’s Moses basket: