DAY 42-48 – Bitesize Bits Of A Whistlestop Week

SINISTER FACE ON THE MONITOR

IN a bid to get back up to date with what is happening in the present rather than chasing my tail, (sweaty work in this heat) out of the past, I am going to run through the highlights/lowlights of the past week with brief comments. Think of this post like that excellent publication The Week but with a focus purely on my eight-month-old rather than world politics, current affairs and culture.

Monday (Day 42):
Made the Lady an omelette with cream cheese, which went down very well. The lunchtime sleep was going nowhere, with A-bomb staring wide-eyed at me while sniggering, so I launched her out of her cot and straight into the pram. It was a snap decision so I hadn't given much thought to my attire or where I was headed. Ten seconds after turning left out of my house the dry air turned decidedly wet as the heavens opened up. The monsoon lasted a good ten minutes, which was more than enough time to make sure that every thread of my white T-shirt had stuck to my skin and that my shorts had become almost impossible to walk in. As I waddle-sprinted to the nearest shopping area two helpful women covered in tattoos and smoking roll-ups offered: "You've gone see-through darlin'". 

"Many thanks," I answered. 

Tuesday (Day 43): 
Breakfast of frozen fruit and oats for me and porridge fingers for M'lady. Porridge fingers dipped in fruit/oat smoothie was a real crowd-pleaser.
Created a gladiator-esque arena around A-bomb's play-mat using cushions. It was an attempt to prevent her mounting a rolling escape. Worked a treat. I could sense that the girl was already plotting a new route out of the room though so watch this space.
Developed a new move that involves clicking fingers while singing like a maniac. The inaugural showing of this was to "Burn Baby Burn", which was playing on the radio. Click-dancing could become a"thing".


Wednesday (Day 44
Swimming. M'Lady's favourite. Managed to dive of the giant float and give a big smile

Thursday (Day 45)
Last visit to Baby Sensory... it was not very good. Essentially singing at the kids for 45 minutes, with a few breaks to shake bells in their faces. Maybe The Leader's mind is on the next subjects.
Lunch at a lovely awesome restaurant (the Belgian Brasserie – www.belgianbrasserie.com) before rushing home to get the girl to sleep before our afternoon rendezvous with a photographer.
A friend of one of the NCT gang is getting into professional photography of families and children so we were just offering some models in exchange or some smart images. I'm yet to see the pictures but I imagine the will be great, even the one of all our babies falling backwards into a flower bed.



Friday (DAY 46)
Last visit to Baby Yoga run by the fabulous http://northcotebaby.com/  Lots of focus on the baby this time rather than asking us to hold a 10kg weigh above our head for minutes on end, which was not bad thing.
Sadly we won't be re-joining the yoga class next term just because it's time to find new activities... and she weighs too much to complete each class. For any parents of newborns up to eight-ish months
On returning home, M'Lady went to sleep super-quick and was well and truly out for the count.
Half an hour later I checked the monitor to see how she was getting on. At this point I think I lost my lunch and actually shouted in shock. On the screen, instead of a sleeping daughter I was faced with a man with a hat on. It was the scariest thing I've ever seen. It
turns out that I had moved the camera by accident using the remote control buttons and the camera was facing a box (Scatch Head), which has a man in a hat on the front.


Saturday (DAY 47
A new party trick: Wait for Daddy to fill plastic bowl with natural yoghurt, watch Daddy put bowl on high-chair tray, smash fist into tray so that whole bowl flips in the air and lands the right way up on video, while showering me with aforementioned yoghurt.

 Sunday (DAY 48) 
A-bomb attended (www.spartanfitnesslondon.co.uk) and played on the mats provided. 
It was a return to moving like an animal and the plethora of bodyweight moves for the NUNS netball team.

DAY 32 – BUGGY BUGBEARS

WHEN it comes to chatting about buggies/prams/stroller/pushchairs there won't be many that are more happy with their product than I am with my Baby Jogger City Mini GT.

The user-friendly piece of kit is robust, has excellent manoeuvrability, is remarkably easy to assemble and fold up and it looks super stylish, especially for people like the Milk Lady who are obsessed with the colour red. Furthermore despite not being designed as a running buggy the Baby Jogger is versatile enough to cater for a decent run on roads and flat grass.

And when the product is in "pram" mode, when a new baby needs to be kept flat in the compact or deluxe pram, the storage basket is pretty large. 

As you may have predicted though, there is a "but". A giant "but". For all of the merits of this superb baby vessel, of which there are many, when it is in standard "stroller" mode, the amount of under-baby storage is simply inadequate.

I've had many a rant, to myself and to whoever happens to be close by when my self-destruct button has been activated and steam is billowing from my nostrils, about the lack of room for the infamous yet vital Baby Bag. As the kids might say, "O.M.G," there have been some fireworks.

A particular standout moment with regards Buggy Undercarriage Meltdowns came ahead of my latest walk to Baby Yoga, one of my favourite parts of the week. As always A-Bomb and I were due to meet the NCT mums at the end of our road to walk up for breakfast pre-yoga... lovely. Meet at 0850 for a leisurely 15-minute stroll. Sure.

There had been a textbook 0700 wake-up from M'Lady, a nappy change, a feed from the Milk Lady, some porridge fingers in the high chair and by 0825 we were dressed and ready to go... we just needed to pack the all-important Baby Bag under the three-wheeled buggy. Now, I will admit that by now I should have known to have loaded the bag *before* plugging in the baby, but I had not done that. A-Bomb was plugged in without any fuss but I knew that once on-board, movement needed to take place within at least 10 seconds before annoyance, then full crying would kick in. No problem... I just needed to sling the bag in and we'd be off.

I grabbed the bag (a blue and pink number that I recently subbed in for a fetching red Longchamp carrier that was far too big for the buggy) and attempted to wedge it into the tray underneath the Lady. No chance. It would not fit. A-Bomb was already making noises about not being on the move. I whacked the brake on to ensure the buggy didn't roll away while I pushed the bag harder.

I had already stripped out several emergency clothing items, baby goggles, and a sunhat to trim down the bag's size. I had even reduced the number of nappies from the mandatory eight to just three to save space. On reflection that was mental – I got away with it, but it was a stupid, irrational move that should never be repeated. If anything I deserved to end the day covered in a nutty substance for my naivety. Never leave home without EIGHT extra nappies.

After one minute of wrestling with the bag I had made zero progress and whoever was filming me was making multiples of £250 for You've Been Framed. A-bomb was now super frustrated because she could see no reason why the bloke who pushes her was not pushing her. A fair point. My front door was open because to allow for a quick exit but at this stage it was just giving passers-by a window into a mad man attacking a pushchair. I was basically taking run ups and shoulder-charging a small bag into my daughter while aggressively muttering things along the lines of "oh dear, I wish this bag would pop underneath the buggy, because I am now late. Fiddly Dee".

With me dripping in sweat, veins popping through my skin and my eyes popping out of my skull,  my pre-yoga inner zen had been knocked somewhat sideways. A bag containing nappies, some milk and some spare clothes had reduced me to a shell of a person all because the storage compartment on the Baby Jogger City Mini GT is not acceptable, in my (correct) opinion.

Anyway... eventually by sheer brute force the bag was pushed into place and we got on our way. We weren't even late, thanks to my excellent, relaxed preparation. It was never in doubt, I had it under control.

Breakfast at our favourite place, Tota (ww.tota-restaurant.co.uk) was excellent and Baby Yoga (www.northcotebaby.com) was great... a good way to chill out, even when required to hold a whale baby above my head for long stints.

Just, to reiterate, A-Bomb and I love our buggy and still would not trade it for a a different model... but we would politely suggest to Baby Jogger that efforts could and should be made to increase the storage capacity.

DAY 14 - COFFEE SHOP CONNOISSEURS

BEFORE being a stay-at-home-look-after-the-baby Dad I saw coffee as a means to an end. I liked the stuff and I could tell the difference between a flat white and a cup of instant from the supermarket saver range but its main job was to wake me up and keep me from falling asleep while driving. Most coffee was bought at Service stations on the way to work and I had no real need to frequent a bespoke coffee boutique.

Things have changed somewhat. I've always wondered where the people with fixed impenetrable stares pushing prams were marching to and now I know. This army of mainly women are pounding the streets in search of a coffee shop. Not because they need a caffeine fix, although they probably do if their offspring is an early riser, but because they crave a different setting. Parents who are at home to care for and protect their babies can spend a mentally debilitating amount of time in their own home, possibly even in one room, filled with chattering toys – "The BABY LIKES MILK... DO YOU KNOW YOUR ABCs? I'M A SOFT, AND FLUFFY COW.." – so they bust out of their front doors and search out an establishment to sit it for a drink. It is frowned upon to hit the pubs and bars to neck beers while in charge of a small child.

I am far from bored at home, in fact I'd go as far as to say that I am as excited each day looking after A-bomb as I ever have been at work, however the hunt for coffee (sometimes iced) in surroundings that are not my house is one that I relish on an almost daily basis. I view my fellow pram-pushers not so much as parenting colleagues as co-members of a mass reviewing body ready to cast their quizzical eyes over cafes, coffee shops and eateries any time, any place.

With lots of time on my hands and a wish to stay out of my house for a good few hours, my requirements have gone far beyond the A-road caffeine stop-off. Now, armed with a baby, I demand coffee that is so delicious that I will sip and savour, rather than bolt. I would like a comfortable chair please, not too firm and certainly nothing plastic. It's a given that I need good space for a buggy to fit through – I once had my fingers burnt when a small gap between chairs led to my smashing the front wheel into a table and jolting M'Lady into awake mode. So, excellent coffee, comfy chairs, wide spaces. I'll also be looking for a relaxing ambience, access to reading material and the option of food. If the barista station is close to or part of a place that sells convenient goods such as face wipes, bin liners and surface cleanser then all the better.

Yes Starbucks, Nero and Costa, you may tick a lot of the boxes (possibly with a rating of 6-7 out of 10) but what clientele are you attracting? Does that affect my vibe? Probably. So far I have found that the non-chain and in-house coffee providers at garden centres and small department stores are winning. Of surprise today was the atmosphere and treats offered up at Dunelm – quite the sneaky treasure trove.

Goodness what have I become.