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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.

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Friday, 24 June 2016

DAY 24 – The Crying Game

Well, today was more disaster than success.

So far my time as the daytime parent-in-charge has been marvellous, wonderful, amazing. Not today.

Proceedings started on the wrong foot due to a lack of sleep for all of us because THE COUGH kept her awake while the Milk Lady and I were running around trying to find new remedies. Vapour rub on chest, vapour rub on feet (that's a new one for me), Olbas oil in water, and nasal spray. The patients was greased to the max while her room smelt like a cross between a sexy spa steam room and a rugby changing room. Didn't seem to work though.

A breakfast of blueberry muffin was given a bit of attention with some going down but the effort was lacklustre. The bottle of breast milk was guzzled but not at the usual rapid speed.

Then for nap one at the new, pushed back time of 0930. "Not a chance" was the vibe I was given via body language and eyes popping out of The Lady's head. After 50 minutes of songs, squats, reading and lunges, I gave up. There were no tears but she did not want a sleep.

During this farcical attempt to put her to bed I had received a message to say Baby Sensory was cancelled. Something about The Leader being stuck in traffic (or being drafted in to lead a brainwashing seminar elsewhere).

From 1100 onwards M'Lady made the decision to spend the day mostly crying or at least whinging. Fun times. I even took her into the loft room with all the window open to chill her out a bit.

After failing to get her to take a bottle I decided a walk was in order so we donned our voting attire and plodded off to mark an X on the EU Referendum ballot paper. I followed the advice of the creatures from Day 23.

The walk was punctuated by the sounds of half-arsed crying and a cough that was more smoking veteran than seven-month-old baby. Inside the polling station, aside from casting my vote, I was quizzed by a pregnant electoral officer on the effectiveness of Sophie the Giraffe, which was being chewed on by my partner in voting.

"It's a mandatory purchase," I explained. 
"Some things are negotiable but for whatever reason ALL babies must have Sophie. 
"Buy it. Soon". 

After voting it was onward to a cafe to buy caffeine and a sandwich. The motion sent M'Lady off to deep sleep, which was ideal – except the fact that she was snoring and sounded like a pickled tramp.

Woke up an hour later, crying. Crying didn't stop until 1500 at which point it was feeding time. Again, she didn't want any so I brought the 1600 solid food session forward to try to get some sustenance in her. Delicious selection on the menu too: Steamed Apple, Rice Cakes, and Tarragon Chicken. The miserable so and so had a suck on the rice cake and turned her nose up at the rest of it, while crying and making an annoying shrieking noise.

Sprints were then undertaken to try to stem the sadness and that was a winner, so much so that she fell asleep. We went to Deen City Farm to meet friends Rosie and her own A-baby, which was lovely if a bit rainy.

Back home, crying commenced and attempts at feeding were batted away by a little (fat) hand with  aggressive disdain.

So, very little food taken on and very few smiles dished out to me. Added to that was the general feeling that people might vote to leave the most successful union for peace in history.

Then while I was bouncing the little munchbunch on my lap she fell asleep mid-bounce, which was a tell-tale sign that she was not herself.

Thankfully Mama arrived at 1800, which brought some inescapable smiles from our girl ahead of bath and bedtime, which all went like clockwork.

Not long after, Wifey ventured into the loft for a shower. She returned quickly. That was Ominous.

"Did you open the windows?" 

Yes I did. 

"Yes, there's been torrential rain today hasn't there?" 

Yes, there has. Oh.

Oh dear. No excuses. I had left the windows wide open to allow cool air in for my daughter, allowing the monsoon to water the bedroom contents like prize plants at the Chelsea Flower Show. Not even my sleep-deprived state could be blamed for the oversight, which meant we had to sleep on a different mattress, which was about as comfortable as a concrete floor.

It was one of those days and goes down as the new LOW-POINT BENCHMARK.





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