About Me

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By trade I am a journalist with a background in current affairs, culture, health and fitness, travel and high profile interviews. I also own and run an outdoor fitness business aimed at people that hate gyms and bootcamps (www.spartanfitnesslondon.co.uk). Most importantly though, I am on Shared Parental Leave from May 31 to October 3. Everyday from 0730 to 1800 I will be in sole charge of a real and completely awesome baby girl.


Wednesday, 15 June 2016

DAY 15 – Step In Time!

VERY quick one, much like what I am about to talk about. One thing, among a million, that NCT classes, midwives and baby books don’t give you much of a steer on is how to get things done when a baby is capable of movement. In the beginning it was kind of okay to leave the chubster alone in a room for a 30 seconds (or more) because she was essentially beached. It was ideal, she was happy to lie there and was physically incapable of shifting her considerable body mass.  Times have changed. In the time it takes for me to fill a kettle for a much-needed cup of coffee the nincompoop will have carried out numerous commando rolls and ended up wedged under the sofa. Not that that has ever happened. Definitely not.

Back in the olden days when M’lady was a baby, not nearly SEVEN-months-old we could strap her into the bouncer if we wanted to get something done, like tidy up or even make some breakfast. Now though, she has piled on so much weight that the bouncer would buckle under the strain and has been consigned to history. Until I purchase a holding pen to kettle the hooligan I have to remain on guard at all times, or carry her, which is fine until my arm withers.

Picture the scene: The Milk Lady had gone to work, solids session was successful, clean-up was done. It was 0845 and we were on track for a textbook 0900 nap-time. By 0850 mid-sleep-sssshhhes I was practically salivating at the prospect of having a shower and attending the lavatory. Our cleaner (yes I draft someone in to assist with the carnage) was due at 1000 and didn’t have a key. Plenty of time.

Nah. The A-bomb was too full of beans to have a nap, until 0950. Knock Knock went the door. It was the cleaner. I was still itching with uncleanliness and busting for the basin, to put it mildly. Without having time to say much more than hello, the scrubbing operative had steamed into the bathroom and I was left knocking my knees, doing a dance like Bert on the rooftops in Mary Poppins.

Eventually the cleaner emerged and I explained that I would be in the shower. If she needed to clean the toilet or shower in the next ten minutes, she was welcome to wash around me. Thankfully it didn’t come to that.

All of this was because the A-bizzle was now too mobile to be left alone and also too obstinate to go to sleep when asked.

She is grounded.

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