by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Settling a child into nursery: the heartbreaking stage

So, as I mentioned in my last post, I’m back at work soon. And I’m all sorts of nervous and excited about this, and rather glad that my line of work is the kind of thing that is a) quite easy to stay involved in as it’s all online and b) quite easy to stay involved with if you’re a blogging, tweeting, possibly-Google-plussing community addict, which you obviously are if you do my job.

The thing about going back to work is that childcare has to be worked out.  Three days a week Ramona will be with grandparents, with whom she’s already happy and comfortable and has been left a few times to get used to the idea. But I also wanted her to go to nursery. Not because I’m itching to spend hundreds of pounds every month (and it is, at this end of the country certainly, a phenomenal though understandable fee), but because otherwise she doesn’t see very many other children.* I also think it can’t hurt to get used to the general routine. Astonishingly, school is just three years away, and becoming accustomed to the coming and going of large groups of kids with various tall people dotted about telling you what to do is no bad thing.

So, we started the process. We were lucky enough to find a nursery we loved on the second attempt (sorry, I won’t be sharing which as it’s just plain creepy to have the interwebs know where your child is spending her days). It’s well-resourced, cheerful and full of really lovely staff who exhibit a natural and boundless affection for their variously dribbling, snotty, wibbling and pooing charges. Lots of hugs and kisses, plenty of toys, books (Ramona’s current Reason for Being is to turn pages in board books) and good food. What else could anyone want? In fact, sign me up. I’ll even go to the loo myself.

But of course Ramona’s used to having mainly me around. The first few sessions, getting gradually longer, involved more and more crying, most of it solved by getting her engrossed in some books, or feeding her, although the last time the books only worked for a little while and she wouldn’t eat or drink milk. It was only on the last one that she actually clung to me and sobbed when we arrived – before that she’d smile at first and take a few minutes to realise I wasn’t there. On the advice of the nursery staff I’m basically going in, sitting her down, handing over her milk and buggering off; in their experience a drawn out goodbye only makes things worse.

It is, absolutely, heartbreaking (I sort of thank God she can’t say ‘mummy’ yet, because I think that would finish me off entirely). I know that she’ll get past it and that tears in the morning will become tears of wanting to stay there in the afternoon; after all, she doesn’t have a sandpit and water table and music area and whole crate full of phone-like toys etc at home. And all those things are, she will discover in due course, way more interesting than having me to poke every ten minutes. But I do wish I’d started this all earlier before separation anxiety had a chance to kick in (on her side – mine started before her head was all the way out), and I would have done if we hadn’t been away. But what’s done is done.

I try to make up for it with extra snuggly time – we spent ages cuddling in bed, her dozing and snorting on my chest, then beaming at me – but that only seems to make it worse for me.

The funny thing is, I have no doubts whatsoever about going back to work. I always wanted to and even after a break I can’t imagine not doing my job; it would be like not being me. So I’m not sitting here just to justify it to myself. Even if I was a SAHM, I’d send her to nursery for the socialisation and so that she can be taught by someone other than me.

Still, nothing teaches you to handle guilt like parenthood. Indeed, if you can get past the things you ‘should’ do during pregnancy, the things you ‘must’ do after the birth and the routines they ‘ought to’ follow thereafter, you will be TOTALLY INDESTRUCTABLE.

Women weakened by childbirth? Ha! I’ve never been tougher in my life.

 

*One of my friends has a daughter just five weeks older than Ramona. Every single time Ramona sees said mother and daughter coupling, she is having a bad day. The other child is frighteningly well-behaved and perfect. Mine – so cute, able, confident and lovely so much of the time – has a meltdown. And to make matters worse, when we see them as a family she is scared of the father’s voice. It basically means that among our closest friends at least one couple think our child is part-demon. This makes me sad, and also makes me think Ramona must, must, must be around other kids her age!

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Back home, with a toothy baby, and back to work soon

I’m not, generally speaking, such a fan of writing bullet point posts. However, having been away for the best part of the month I feel like it’s a good way to get us all up to speed so that when I refer to things in later posts I can go “you know, I mentioned it in that bullet point list” rather than have an explanatory aside.

Or, I’m feeling a bit blogging lazy. Here goes.

  • We (by which I mean my mother, with my dad, Ramona and me on board) drove to Greece and back. Ash joined us by plane for the bit in the middle. We went to Athens and Kefallonia. The drive had its high and low points (I’m planning posts on the practical elements for BitchBuzz), but overall it was worth it and we all enjoyed the sun and food!
  • Ramona grew a tooth! It’s still working its way up, but now looks like a large grain of rice has settled on her gum. As if overnight, it solved a lot of her feeding problems and she’s now happily settled on finger foods with three milk feeds a day. Now to switch the milk to cups, which I’m hoping won’t be horrendous as she’s been using her cup independently to drink water since she was seven months.
  • I just had to interrupt this as Ramona had somehow managed to get hold of a bottle of Bio-Oil, open it, and spill it all over herself.
  • Books are her favourite thing ever. She loves Winnie the Pooh and the Trouble with Bees so much I can recite it from memory without the book and she grins at all her favourite bits before they happen. A book will keep her occupied longer than any toy.
  • Oh, actually, Peekaboo is the best, best thing ever. And when I say “Ramona play Peekaboo!” she ducks down and pops up, giggling hysterically and mumbling “pah!” “bah!” or “ee-bah!”.
  • I haven’t run in a month and feel thoroughly guilty. I’m also slightly amazed at how much weight I haven’t gained eating everything and hardly moving. Even in the sea I didn’t exactly do much swimming!
  • And speaking of the sea, Ramona adored it. She cried for about half a minute the first time she went in from the shock of the cold water, but adjusted far more quickly than we did. The second time she just complained for a few seconds. The third and fourth time there wasn’t a peep, just excited leg kicking! After that she started to get a bit irritated by the ring she was in and if we’d had more time I’d have graduated her to arm bands. Time to start taking her swimming. I meant to ages ago, right from when she was born, really, but somehow it just didn’t happen.
  • I’m back at work on 1st August, so I’m starting the process of getting Ramona settled into nursery this week (we have a mixture of nursery and grandparent care set up for her). I think she’ll be fine, but obviously it’s not so easy to detach myself, even if I am raring to get back to doing what I do. Being a community manager is basically aces, and I’ve missed it. I know that once I’m at work I’ll get so wrapped up in things it’ll be like I never went away, and there’s lots of people I’m looking forward to seeing. I’m just a bit bowled over by how quickly it’s all gone!
  • So yes, my ‘baby’ is almost a year old and won’t be a baby for much longer! It’s both slightly sad and very exciting. I’m looking forward to first words, first steps (I don’t think that’s very far off) and lots of other brilliant firsts, but I’m also stunned that I’m months away from being mum to a toddler.

I think those are the highlights. And now, I’m off to another child’s first birthday party. Because that’s what parents do at weekends.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Reflections on Ramona: Ten months in

This week is a bit crazy. For one reason or another I haven’t run for over a week (but I DID nail that 25 minute run on the third attempt) plus I’m up to my eyes in packing to go on holiday shortly. I have posts promised for BitchBuzz that I should be writing, but this week also marks ten months since I first met a certain little person, and I have to take this opportunity to mark that.

This is truly the golden bit of babyness, I think, if there is one. Sometimes when you’re on the treadmill of teething and nap schedules gone astray it’s hard to remember how very exciting the bit between six months and toddlerhood is. Each stage has its own joys, but it’s just so lovely to see her burgeoning independence now.

She crawls (yes, she finally got it!) just far enough to be able to pull herself up and cruise the furniture. She then flomps down, deliberately, next to a book, and turns the pages, groaning and grunting the story to herself. She changes her mind from one meal to the next about whether she wants sludge or finger food, and what she’ll deign to chew, and she’s obsessed with her water cup. She wakes up dozy and cute and then pulls herself up to look over the cot at me “like a small rising moon, wearing a wig” to quote her father. She examines her toys minutely, and has taken to stroking a stuffed weasel and groaning at it (the repetitive drone is something of a favourite with her when she’s got something interesting to look at, like, erm, a label). She knows Winnie the Pooh and the Trouble with Bees so well that she knows when I’m quoting it, even if it’s nowhere near her, and she smiles in anticipation of the ‘buzz buzz buzz’ lines.

She is observant and smart. Today a woman in a shop gave her a great compliment: “she’s so alert!”. Sure she’s adorable and cute and precious and all those things, but how much better to be recognised by the sparkle in your eye and the brightness you exude.

I am outstandingly, abundantly, superlatively proud of her. And at the same time as being impatient to look back on her first year, I’m in no hurry to wish these days away (except the teething. Please. God. A tooth. My virtual kingdom for a bloody tooth).

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Yet more beginners’ running (and some other stuff, too)

So, I have to be honest with you about something, which is not going to be fun to hear if you’re just wavering on the edge of putting your trainers on and getting out there. But I don’t say it to discourage you. On the contrary, I say it because you’re going to hit this patch, just as I did, and you need to know it’s coming and not let yourself get disheartened by it.

Here’s the secret:

Running – or any regular exercise worth doing – never gets easy.

Sure it gets easier to go further. And it’s easier to go faster. But it doesn’t get easy. And as soon as it’s threatening to, you have to dial up the input, and it gets hard again.

I’ve faltered at week six of the C25K. I managed the two interval runs (the second one after two attempts: two intervals of ten minutes are harder than one of twenty). But the 25 minute run has defeated me twice. The first time after 15 minutes – though I was generally not together that morning – and the second time after just over 20, which frankly I still consider a win.

I should do week six again and get my fitness up, but frankly the thought of doing those intervals again is making me want to cry. So I’m going to risk slightly messing this up and do my own deviation from the plan, which is a couple more 20-minute runs, then an attempt at three 25-minute runs and, should that go well I’ll rejoin the plan at week seven and do the three 28-minute runs followed by the three 30-minute runs.

Or, as I pointed out to Ash today: I’m two-thirds of the way to a 5k. A few weeks ago, I was barely a tenth of the way and was refusing to even think “5k” for fear I would totally terrify myself back onto the couch.

Part of the reason for the slow down is that as the runs are getting longer, it’s been harder to fit them in. I can’t run with a stroller, it bugs me, so I have to find time to go alone which means 6am. I’m often too exhausted, which means instead of going on a couple of consecutive days, then having one day off and going back to it, I’m sometimes leaving up to three or four days between runs and my muscles are not up to the next run. But I’ve managed to never let a week go by without at least two runs, preferably three, and I’m going to keep aiming for that.

When I go away I’ll be in the car for three days and I don’t think I’ll get to run. I’m also not sure if I’ll manage it around Athens, but I’m determined to get in some good walking and as much running and swimming on the island as I can for the week I’m there. Especially as I’ll probably eat my body weight in whitebait, octopus and fried courgette while I’m there, too.

That’s where you can stop reading if you were just here for the running. If you’re here for babies too – or just to read my ramblings – then you’re in luck…

I don’t want to speak too soon, but I think I’ve managed to make a shortlist of the things that were affecting Ramona and making her screech. As I’ve begun to address them – in as much as I can – I think I’ve made some headway and we’ve had a couple of much less deafening days. In addition, I feel a lot more in control of my parenting, or at least I have a far more convincing pretence of that.

So, the screech inducers are:

  • Me talking to anyone that’s not her. Especially if they’re on the phone.
  • Feeding frustrations.

The talking to thing I’m having to address with a bit of ignoring. Putting her down with toys and walking out of the room, or simply not acknowledging it and carrying on with my conversation. This one is clearly a long war, and it’s going to be fought battle by battle. And actually ever time I ignore her she learns something new, like how to stand up alone, or try to push herself upright, so bit by bit I’m learning to stop the rotor blades a bit and be less of a helicopter parent.

The feeding thing took me a few days to cotton onto fully. Because she weaned quite early, we didn’t go to baby led weaning route, but she came off purees quite happily a couple of months ago onto more chunky stuff. She had pretty much got to the stage where she could just feed herself finger food, and all was well. And then, a couple of weeks ago, just as the screeching reappeared, she started to bite, chew and then spit out her food rather than actually eating it.

For a couple of days I reasoned that it was a phase as she was examining textures. Though I fretted about the amount she was taking in, she wasn’t sluggish, drinking more milk or losing weight. She could – can – still eat bread and loves toast with cream cheese (just as well, as she refuses to eat anything else at breakfast, apart from yogurt). But gradually, she started spitting more and more things out unless they were in really tiny pieces. Soft ripe pear sticks that she used to enjoy were being sucked and spat; so was the odd baby cookie I gave her. The only things staying down were bread, sauces, yogurts, really overcooked pasta, strawberries and those carrot puff snack things which I occasionally give her one or two of.

So as I realised she must be hungry and frustrated and I didn’t want mealtimes to be reduced to hours of me feeding her tiny tidbits, I began reluctantly to reintroduce the stage we left a while ago: lumpy mash. I was scared to go backwards, as I thought it might be an eating phase and that I’d be stuck with a child still eating purees when she turns fifteen. But as she gratefully nommed it all, I realised this was very likely not a battle of wills or a preference or phases, since she actually really enjoys feeding herself (although doesn’t try to grab the spoon when it’s not quite solid stuff, weirdly!). It’s her teeth – or lack of them.

She’s been chewing her fingers like there’s no tomorrow, and even bit my chin with frustration the other day. She’s dribbling like a demon. After nine and a half months – six and a half of which have been spent showing signs of teething and full of frustrated gnawing – she still doesn’t have a single damn tooth. I didn’t either until I was about 11 months, so I think I might have sadly passed that on to her (though I’ll blame Ashley as he was a late teether too). So I’ve come to the conclusion that her gums are now just too sensitive to chew bigger lumps down unless it’s gooey, chewy stuff like bread or soothingly cold and smushy fare like strawberries.

It’s not an entire backwards step, as she’s still having some finger food, but she’s eating about three times as much and seems much more content. She’s sleeping as well as ever – if not better – and is happy with three hearty milk feeds a day, as well as producing several more grim nappies. She seems more content to play and surf the furniture with about a quarter as many bloodcurdling screams.

So there we have it. Why does my baby scream? Attention-seeking, hunger and teething.

The first I’m learning to take care of, the second is sorted and the third is being managed until it takes care of itself.

I’d call that a win… wouldn’t you?

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

More thoughts on running for beginners

This morning I went for my first run since the Big Run. It was the next stage of the Couch-2-5k programme, which means I go back to interval for a couple of runs before attempting a 25 minute run by the end of the week. It was actually much harder in its own way – running and stopping sort of seems to shock your body – but I did it and set a small distance record for myself by about a fifth of a mile. Baby steps.

While I was running I was actually thinking about this post, and how most blogs on running I come across are people who have left this stage far behind and talk about things like which super running trainers to invest in next, or what their personal trainer told them about their running form. Which is really good stuff if you’re at intermediate level (whatever that is) or beyond, but when you’re just still having to talk yourself into putting one foot in front of the other it’s a bit too much to take in.

Every obstacle you put in your way to prevent you running will be heavy on your heart – they will all stand for more than the good reasons you give yourself, because they’re easier to give in to. So I thought I’ll share what’s helped me make it a bit easier and a bit more fun.

EQUIPMENT

All you need is a pair of decent, comfortable, well-fitting trainers, preferably designed for running, and, if you’re a woman, a good sports bra. The latter is as indispensable as the former; even if you’re not in danger of taking your own eyes out with your giant frontage, it’s still uncomfortable having it jiggle up front, and too much flinging around will cause sagging. Which while hardly life threatening isn’t very comfortable.

However, if you want to go the extra mile and splash out a little on stuff you want, I do recommend a little bit of a running gear. Nothing major or scary. My only piece is a pair of knee-length cycling-short type running pants, which have a little skirt built in over the top so that I don’t feel self-conscious about my rear hanging out. The synthetic material is light and, crucially, stays that way when you start getting sweaty. Although I was wearing cotton sweats when I did the longer run, the material felt bulky, obstructive and hot flapping around my heels after a few minutes.

An iPod or similar is also really useful, and I do enjoy using the RunKeeper app on my iPhone to record my runs and help me view my progress visually. I use a belt from a Wii Zumba game to tie my iPhone to myself for my runs! So some sort of zipped pocket, belt or arm band is helpful there.

I do find carrying water is the biggest hassle. I don’t drink for an hour before I run because otherwise I have to abort my runs to find a loo (the beauty of a weak pelvic floor after childbirth, even thousands of Kegels later). So I do need to sip as I’m running and rehydrate after. I managed one run with a bottle slung into that velcro Wii belt, but it was very uncomfortable. To that end I’ve ordered some Swiggies, and will comment on those when they arrive.

That’s really it. I’m thinking about buying a running top for summer; might reward myself with one if I’m still running in a month’s time.

Oh, hang on, one more thing! Sun cream. I keep forgetting to apply it and am nursing a slight tanned-but-threatening-to-go-red patch on my chest. Ugly and unsafe; don’t do as I do, kids.

SUPPORT

We’ve already talked about the bra. Now what about the emotional support? It might surprise you that you need it, but it does come in awfully helpful.

I don’t have a running partner because I find myself getting competitive and dispirited if I can’t keep up. But I do have several friends who are also running. Exchanging ‘go you!’ comments with great people like Cate, Helen, Martin, Amber and in particular Anne-Marie and Keris  on Twitter has been a really good way to keep me putting one foot in front of the other. Just today when it was getting tough on the last stretch I pictured Anne-Marie with pom poms cheering me along, because that’s what she says in her tweets!

The comments that I get on this blog are also great motivators. At first, I admit, I was a little gutted I wasn’t losing weight (mainly cos I’m an eater – ah, well, what can you do?!). But then I realised I started to get up and move because it was good for me, not because of any particular weight loss target. I started to realise my goals were adding something to myself – strength, speed, fitness – not taking something away. And having friends support me by tweeting along was also adding something to the mix: a social, friendly element. Plus it’s stick as well as carrot, since you don’t want to go letting your friends down.

Some of us started to run at the same time as each other but not with each other, so there’s also no element of competition. I’m doing the C25K, but Anne-Marie and Keris are doing the excellent-sounding Up and Running e-course; we’re at different weeks and running in different ways. And although we’ve exchanged comments on the way we’re each running because I’m curious about the difference in the programmes, we haven’t tried to meet the same targets. In fact, I haven’t ever tweeted my distance or speed records, because they’re for me only.

And that brings me onto:

MENTAL PREPARATION

Remember, you’re only in competition with yourself.

That really bears repeating many, many times. To that end, don’t check out all the other runners, unless it’s in a ‘hey, look at us being healthy at 6am on Tuesday!‘ kind of way. You will probably get lapped by people considerably older and bigger than you (I am all the time), but that’s okay. You’re not trying to keep pace with them. You’re not running against them.

You are only in competition with yourself.

And while distractions like music and timing cues can help, I think it really helps if you don’t have too many. Although I like to hear my split-speed and get told the time every five minutes on RunKeeper, I don’t have my phone where I can see the timer. Because if I know there’s only half a minute to go, I’ll slow down, or every second will seem far too l…o…n…g…. So I try not to calculate how long I’ve got left, and every so often I rearrange the songs on my playlist so that I don’t think “oh, last time at this point there was about a minute to go”. I also vary my route around the park for the same reason.

Before I’ve achieved a certain milestone, I have a mantra in my head of “you can do this… you’ve given birth to a child… this is going to be totally easy!”. And after I’ve done something I’m proud of, then it’s “you can do this… you’ve run for 20 minutes!”. My goals are about what I can do, not what I can’t, or what I want to do in the distant future, or what my friends can do.

Because I am only in competition with myself. 

There will come a time when I can run and race and beat someone. But right now, I’m at the starting line, and that’s okay. Everyone has to pass this way at some point.

Which leads me to my final point. Every time I say ‘run’, I mean ‘jog’. My pace is barely faster than a brisk walk, but it’s what I can manage. I’d rather put in less power and find I have more to spend and can do some extra at the end than put in too much and find I’ve got nothing left in the tank and have to stop early. I can improve speed later; now is about just getting the stamina, the distance, up to a certain level. Maybe that was why I couldn’t finish week one’s runs the first time I tried, and had to stop early twice or maybe I just needed a pre-week one exercise to get me into it. But I kept doing it, and once I got to week three, I found I didn’t need to repeat a week again. Although now I’m on week six, I might have a few repeats before I get to week nine – who knows? Now I’ve proved to myself that by repeating it I can get better, I’m less likely to give up.

I hope that helped. It actually helped me get my head together and remind myself why I’m still doing this, and why I want to keep going.

If you’re strapping on your trainers this weekend, whether for the first time in forever or as part of a regular training programme, good luck to you, and enjoy the dry weather while it lasts!

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Why (almost) anyone can run

I did something almost unthinkable today. I woke up at 5:50am, and by 6:30am I had shuffled out of the door, still bleary, powered by a banana, while even my infant child still slept soundly. And I did a five minute warm-up, then jogged for twenty minutes without stopping.

There are so many inspirational posts about marathon runners and this that and the other about, that that probably doesn’t sound very impressive. I mean, I was jogging, not running, and it was only twenty minutes, not five hours. But I’m not here to impress fit people. I’m here to tell myself, primarily, but then people like me, that this is something almost anyone can do.

Here are all the reasons why I thought I couldn’t ever do this:

I’ve been overweight since I was 9. Seriously, as a teenager (like 16 stone at 14 years old seriously) then less so. For a brief period in my late twenties I was within a half stone of a healthy weight for my height, and now I’m rather more and a size 14-16.

I’ve never enjoyed exercise. I quite like swimming, but it can be a bit of a hassle, and I’m not terribly good at it. School PE lessons were a nightmare and I spent a lot of time getting out of them with spurious injuries. Also:

I hate being coached, and I thought people should have ‘running buddies’. I don’t find it motivating. I also realised I don’t like training with other people because I can get discouraged if they do better than me and resentment is not a good motivator. More about this later.

I’ve had a slipped disc, and spinal surgery to correct it. Also, I have really awkward feet, with inherited b-words. (You know what I mean. The bumpy bone thing. I don’t like to say the word. It’s ugly.) So I could use all sorts of physical excuses not to try.

I had a baby last year. I was never fit before and then I shared my body with another human being. And as if that wasn’t enough, I then shoved that human being through a rather delicate anatomical area! And although she’s slept through the night from three months – thank God! – she doesn’t always sleep peacefully and she’s a thoroughly energetic and exhausting individual. So I spend most of my time being Extremely. Freaking. Tired.

And yet… there I was, pounding the pavements and pathways of London at arse o’clock. I punched the sky at the end, Judd Nelson style. And a man walking his dog saw me. And I didn’t care.

I could put it down to a lot of things, like doing it ‘for Ramona’ or ‘to lose weight’ but in the end I think the reason that this attempt to do something and stick to it, for two months so far, is currently working is because I’m not actually doing it for anyone else. Or for any other reason than just because it’s good for me, and I want to push myself.

I’ve always been perfectly motivated at work, not so motivated to do things for myself. Some of it is pure idleness, some of it a lack of self-confidence. The shuffling, weird fat kid who liked the odd music and books and had a small band of equally odd-bod friends is still with me in some ways (actually the friends are still with me too, which should tell you something about the loyalty of freaks and geeks). But now I see more and more good in her.

I find myself being able to accept a compliment with a simple ‘thank you’. I still qualify some of my statements – “I ran! But I was slow…” – but I’m consciously trying to do that less. Even though my tummy is bigger than ever post-baby and I needed to go up a size in swimwear, I have bought only two-piece bathing stuff for my holiday – I only managed to wear those for the first time at my thinnest but I refuse to go backwards in confidence. I feel the pressure to be a good role model for Ramona by at the very least convincingly faking happiness in my own skin, and you know, as a wise woman once said, if you keep pretending eventually you find that it’s real.

I’ve finally begun the process of accepting that the only person I need to be in competition with is myself. When I started running two months ago I couldn’t complete the exercise (which involved eight one-minute intervals). I couldn’t complete it the first two times. I had to do week one of the programme for two and a half weeks. And there were times when I followed people calling a four mile run ‘easy’ or transforming themselves in just a month of exercise and I wanted to quit and cried. But I kept putting myself through it, until I could achieve something I was proud of.

Today was that day. Now comes the hardest bit – pushing on to the next stage. There’s a balance between celebrating each achievement and getting complacent, between setting the next goal and never accepting a stage as good enough (for now). I didn’t dare to think about a 5k in real terms before now, but I sort of am now.

I don’t want to give up this time. I hope blogging about it will be another reason to have to continue, so I don’t have to write a sheepish “remember that? Yeah, then I quit” post.

And if you’re like me, now you know. If I can do it, anyone can. Well, okay, there are probably some people who have a killer excuse, like a particular disability (although I do know two runners with arthritic / orthopaedic conditions. Ask a doctor, it might not be impossible!) or they work three jobs and have fourteen kids. But most of us are just stopped by our own mental demons.

If I can help you out of the door, to puff alongside me in spirit, and go all red-faced and sweaty but accomplished, then so much the better for us both.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Breakthroughs, milestones and planning a road trip with an infant

So, today has been a slightly less screamy day so far, although I’d rather not speak too soon since her most screechy time is inevitably the tired afternoon, post-nap playtime. I will almost certainly help this along with a nice walk in the park and maybe a go on the swings as this improved yesterday no end. And I didn’t grit my teeth at all when she stopped screaming whilst playing with her Dad, oh no…

Anyway, today Ramona has decided to do the following:

  • Pull herself upright independently, clinging on to a table or bits of me, a handful of times.
  • Walk along, holding my hands, with increasing confidence.
  • Mimic back noises I make including ‘moo’.
  • Return kisses blown to her with very cute lip-smacking noises.

All of which are, obviously, good. She also taught me that she was happy to eat lunch as long as absolutely everything I gave her was finger food. I say ‘eat’, I mean ‘chew and drop’, but in the chaos of flying bits of lamb, cucumber, bread and banana, I think a few mouthfuls did actually get swallowed. And when I made ‘yum yum’ noises at her she rather sweetly shoved her piece of dribbled-on bread in my mouth. Moist, pre-chewed food is the way to go, folks…

Speaking of food, from six months I’ve been feeding her a mix of finger foods and stuff I can spoon into her mouth but she’s now rejecting the spoon unless she can feed herself with it (again, read: smear it around her mouth, with pure luck deciding how much actually goes in). So she was wearing quite a fetching pattern of lumps and Greek yogurt. She usually loves fruit so I added some canned peach bits to the yogurt but she decided to eat the yogurt and spit those out.

Is this the age where you realise every baby is just a toddler in training?

Anyway, I’m trying to focus on the positive today, and get on with getting ahead on the holiday prep. We don’t go for a month or so, but there’s a bit of an epic list of things to get through. I have a packing list and a ‘to buy’ list. The latter includes:

  • Enough ready made formula for the days in the car, there and back.
  • A few packs of disposable bottles.
  • Enough nappies for the days in the car, and swimming nappies for the days at the destination.
  • Jars of food and snacks for the journey in case there isn’t something appropriate on the road.
  • Contact lenses (okay, those are for me. I hate prescription sunglasses and I’m running short of dailies).
  • All the wipes in the world.

You don’t want to see the length of the packing list. As I’ll be in the car with both Whiffle and her grandparents and it’s not a barge or a tank, we’re probably going to look like we’re crossing Europe in Steptoe’s cart.

Honestly. I’m trying to be brutal and take what’s actually needed, not just what I think I need, but I fear leaving something out only to discover it’s absolutely crucial. I’m like Magrat in Carpe Jugulum, frantically packing to get herself and her infant daughter out of a castle full of vampires but nonetheless terrified to leave anything behind: “…and don’t forget the sponge shaped like a teddy bear. And the teddy bear shaped like a sponge.”

But at least it’s something positive to focus on. And it stops me stressing about the actual car trip bit because I’m going to be on my own (well, with my parents, but not with Ashley, is what I mean) for nearly four days. I’m so accustomed to relying on his never-wavering support, whether that’s emotional or practical, that I’m wetting myself at the thought of getting through the days there and back without him; he’s catching up by plane for the bit in the middle so he doesn’t need to miss work – and therefore getting paid – unnecessarily.

So, yes. Better shopping, packing and planning than stressing about screaming and dealing with her on my own. And honestly, what kind of mother is slightly scared of spending that much time being solely responsible for her child? Well, this one. But I do know who the parent is here, and I’m pretty sure babies smell fear and indecision, so I’m going to do my level best not to exhibit any.

Right. Time to go help ma with some spring cleaning while Whiffle sleeps off the five lumps of banana, two mouthfuls of lamb, single cucumber stick, lone piece of bread and four spoonfuls of yogurt she actually ingested.

Thank God she still likes her milk.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Screaming (hers) and crying (mine)

Yes, I’m blogging again today. Mostly because Ramona decided she wanted to sleep around the time I was going to take her out for a walk and try and sort us out for a bit with some fresh air and exercise. The walk has been postponed until she wakes up from her nap and I can take her to the park and pop her on the swings for a bit.

I’ve been doing some Googlechondric type research on the screaming thing. I would ask the health visitor but when Ramona was a colicky four week old she took three days to get back to us to say “oh, yeah… um… maybe baby massage?” and I have faith in my own ability to Find Stuff Out about my baby.

Part of the problem is that you search for ‘screaming’ and get ‘crying’. She’s not crying. She’s not even upset half the time. She’ll be sitting playing and will suddenly just shriek. She’ll be smiling, cooing and babbling happily then stand still and scream, over and over. No tears, no warning, no indication (reaching, signing, body language) that she actually wants anything. It comes and goes without warning or apparent reason. But there’s always a reason… right?

I do have a theory that it’s partly teething related, and it must be frustrating for her to have been teething since she was about three months old and still not to have a single tooth to show for it. A little Anbesol liquid can help, but not always. And I don’t know whether it’s a case of screaming = teething or if that’s just an extra factor that doesn’t help.

One of the reasons I think it might be tooth-related is that she’s just started refusing to eat properly. She weaned quite early and has always been a decent eater, following a pattern of small breakfast, medium lunch, hearty dinner and enjoying fruit and yogurt snacks. But now it’s no breakfast, infinitesimal lunch and snacks but, bizarrely, decent dinner. I think her tummy has also been bugging her as she’s alternately strained then filled nappies copiously, and I know tummy upsets can go hand in hand with teething.

Some people have suggested when babies do this they’re just ‘finding their voice’ but if so I rather hope she’ll misplace it again and get back to the lovely ‘ma-ba-da-ta’ noises she was making before. My ears are actually hurting from the onslaught.

It might also be ‘look what I can do’. She’s been making funny faces and hissing noises for the last week, a bit of a cat-like ‘ssssss’ that makes us all laugh, her included. So there’s no reason why the screaming can’t be part of that kind of experimentation too.

I’d say it was for attention, but she’ll do it right in the middle of my singing or playing or something else that’s totally focussed on her and that she’s otherwise hugely enjoying. I can’t be consistent about ignoring it, because I can’t ignore it in public, but a couple of times I’ve just stopped what we’re doing and sat her down with some toys. After a bit she’ll just play quietly for a few minutes, and then grizzle for attention for real. So I might continue trying that for a while.

I’m guessing it also doesn’t help that she hasn’t yet figured out how to pull herself upright using just the furniture (if you hold out a hand, she can). She also struggles with pulling herself into a sitting position and hates being on all fours – that’s why she won’t crawl, though we do try to get her to play on her tummy when she’s cheerful so that she can develop the necessary arm / neck strength to move herself around more.

In the meantime, I admit I’m struggling. I’m relying on Mum’s help more than before, and passing Ramona to Ashley when he gets home so that I can have half an hour to myself. I haven’t had time to run properly for a week or so (or rather  I haven’t had the energy), which is why I want to get a good, brisk walk in today. I might have to start going first thing, before Ash leaves for work, as I think the exercise will keep me sane and God knows I could do with being fitter to keep up with her.

I’ve had a couple of moments in the last few days where I have just broken down and cried. Poor Ramona got quite upset seeing me lose my smile, which happens so rarely in front of her. But despite being surrounded by mums I simply don’t know any others at the moment who have had a child that did this. It’s only thanks to the wonders of the Internet that I know I’m not alone. I can’t meet up with other mums and get Ramona distracted playing with another child because if she screams (and she will) they’re bound to worry about their children getting distressed – I guess I would. I also can’t help thinking they’ll judge me and assume it’s something about my parenting that’s caused it.

After all, I wonder myself, at my lowest moments.

So altogether my confidence as a parent isn’t exactly soaring at the minute. As if to balance it out, I’m doing other things like finally going back to my long-neglected Monster Book, and flicking through Twitter to keep up with work news and friendly gossip.

Right now, though, I think I’m going to put this aside and take my cue from Ramona; it’s nap time.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

The point of blogging

That’s a bit of a misleading title actually. What I should have said is ‘the point of this blog’. I had to face up to that a bit in redesigning it, and it got me thinking about all the different reasons for having the site in the first place, and how I got here.

My blogging history is pretty much LiveJournal… Vox… (brief foray into Blogger)… here. My LJ was locked, my Vox was not under my real name but I gradually put real photos on it. And then I started working in this field and thought it would be a good idea to have an online home for me.

Of course there are downsides to that. When I had a blog not in my name, I could blog about family and friends without making their identity public (to this day if I’m going to say anything really personal about someone on Twitter I’ll do it by DM. It’s not fair otherwise- it’s my public profile, not theirs). I wrote about my pregnancy before I told work, which was a wonderful outlet. I could be, I think, a little more honest and transparent, as we all are under a film of anonymity.

But I also couldn’t easily talk about my work, and was always second-guessing how much I could say about myself.

Part of the reason for creating this site was essentially to have something that could serve as an online CV. It’s good to have a place to collect achievements and things I’ve been involved with. Every so often I update my real CV without doing anything with it, just to give myself a sense of what I’ve learned and where I’m going and I often come back here to remind myself!

That’s why I couldn’t call this a blog about anything in particular. I talk about social media because they’re the basis of my job and a major interest. I talk about babies and parenting because that’s my life at the moment. I talk about Disney and cakes and books and feminism and cats because I want to.

I used to think that maybe that was a weakness of this blog, and I think it put me off updating it sometimes. I’ve got so used to the pro-blogging world that I felt like this blog ought to have a niche area of interest and stick to it (fairly) rigidly. But of course I’m not trying to make money out this blog. (One could argue that ultimately I’m trying to make money out of me, but I think if you’re considering hiring me for something then it’s okay if you know I have a life outside work. I would have thought that would be a bonus, actually). I’m not trying to appeal to a particular audience. I’m just using this in a simple, cave painting kind of way: to talk, to share, to vent. And, if I’m lucky, and people are interested, to listen, too.

I’ve just gone back to the start, really, and just taken blogging for what it is for most people, most of the time.

But you know if I were ever going to launch myself down the path of pro-blogging for myself, I’d want to keep this bit of Pro Blogger wisdom about not comparing myself to others in mind.

And now maybe I should get on with the actual blogging about stuff other than, erm, blogging.

by Alexandra Roumbas Goldstein

Blog refurbishment

Like the new coat of paint?

I have a bit of a secret weapon on board here, which is the less mouthy Goldstein in the partnership: my husband. Look, here he is! And here! Give him a wave.

He patiently listened to my mad ideas about cats and Disney and Disney and cats and blogging about Whiffle. And he made them into something that I think speaks pretty well of me.

I’ve also tidied up the copy on the Pages and removed some of the extraneous bumpf. I’m a great believer in spring cleaning writing – and websites – and this bout of scrubbing and polishing was long overdue.

I hope you enjoy the new look.