The best laid plans

I should be writing about our attempts this week to re-introduce a bottle at night and whether or not this was having an impact on E’s sleeping patterns. But, like all best laid plans, this has suffered a setback.

Struck down with our worst cold to date, all of us in the Matchsticks household are currently living less than half a metre from a box of tissues. My pockets are stuffed with the balsam variety in the hope that I can avoid looking like Rudolph the red nosed reindeer. The husband is diligently washing his hands at every cough and splutter (locking doors and bolting horses springs to mind).

And poor E doesn’t know what to make of it all. Having inherited my family’s penchant for earth-shattering sneezing, he either wakes or scares himself with each eruption. I’m trying and failing to do that ‘no sneeze’ sneezing, so am also waking him up on a regular basis. I dread to think what he’d be like without the baby Vicks and my beloved Calpol.

Limited to paracetamol and steaming with Olbas Oil, it’s times like this that I cling on to the health benefits of breastfeeding. The first sign of a sore throat will usually see me stocking up on cold relief remedies, but as these are not compatible with breastfeeding, I’m just going to have to ride it out.

Fortunately as a big believer in the ‘feed a cold, starve the fever’ philosophy, I’ve just tucked into a healthy slice of chocolate cake.


A room with a view

The travel blackout blind has come down, books I plan to read have returned to my bedside table and I’m now sleeping with the monitor. Yes, E has finally moved into his own room.

And I feel, to use a much over-used phrase, a mixture of emotions. I’ve shared a bedroom with my son for the last seven months, our night time bond going back longer to when his kicks and somersaults first put in an appearance. He has only moved across the hall, but it represents another milestone as E rockets through babyhood.

However, the collection of bruises on my legs from stumbling into the bed frame on a nightly basis were starting to join up and the suggestion that E might sleep better in his own room was too great a temptation*.

Rather than set a date for the move, we I just decided that now was as good a time as any.

My lovely mum had finished bunting to go across the ceiling and I, having not inherited her creative flair, bought some wall stickers. It looks a little, erm, bright, but the aim was to give E lots of things to look at, encouraging him to stay calm in his bed and even, dare I say it, help him back to sleep.

What I didn’t think about was how the decorations would impact on getting E off to sleep. He needs very little to spark his interest and now has cars, flags and trains to draw his attention away from the boring business of resting.

*four days in and it’s too soon to say if the sleep habits have improved. Well, I have seen a little light at the end of the tunnel, but am not going to jinx it. Especially after this afternoon’s overtired screaming fit…

Time for a bit of pruning

Warning – if the subject of ‘lady gardening’ is too much for your delicate sensibilities, look away now.

This week has seen two milestones in our household – E said his first word and I discovered a white hair. Not on my head.

Don’t get me wrong, my son’s first steps in learning language is very important, but for today I feel the need to offload about the shocking lady garden discovery.

I’m not a regular ‘pruner’, you see. My approach is more of a maintain-if-going-swimming-or-have-gynae-appointment.

It wasn’t always this way. In the run up to my wedding five years ago I had monthly appointments with a lovely bikini wax lady who took away my responsibility for keeping things neat. Then I moved away, took a lower paid job and the bikini wax luxury was no more.

In the three years it took to conceive E, we went through nine rounds of Clomid and one miracle round of IVF. Plenty of people to become accustomed to my neither regions and a reason to keep on top of the hair situation. But since then I haven’t really bothered. And now it’s down to my knees.

Not really – can you imagine?! But suffice to say, it’s a jungle out down there.

So this morning I decided to tackle the situation. Armed with a poorly performing trimmer I got to work – and was rewarded by the sight of a white hair. In the words of Gordon from Thomas and Friends (my new daytime viewing companion’s favourite show) ‘Oh, the indignity’.

Adventures in weaning

It’s the usual way isn’t it? Blogger starts to get more followers and in return stops blogging for a couple of weeks. It wasn’t intentional, dear reader.

Life has been a bit unsettled in the Matchsticks house over the last fortnight and, to be honest, I didn’t have the heart to write about anything. Well, that’s not completely true, I wanted to rant about the constant arguments with my husband, but I don’t think it would make for great reading. Things are back on track for the moment though and I really hope it stays that way.

Google searches since my last post may give an indication as to what’s been happening here:

‘Will my baby ever sleep?’ – I’m sure this one needs no explanation. Suffice to say I still have the world’s most alert baby who has no need for rest.

‘Can I fix my relationship?’ – because Google is also a therapist.

‘Is my dog incontinent?’ – she’s not stressed, she’s not old, so it’s either an infection or incontinence. Or laziness. Either way it involved a visit to the vet and me wandering around the garden after her this morning trying to get a wee sample. Much fun was had by all.

Anyway, on to the subject of the day… Weaning. Two of us are benefitting greatly from the (baby led) weaning process – unfortunately neither of us is the baby.

The dog has perfected her stealth mode approach – nonchalantly acknowledging E as he is placed in the high chair and then commando crawling across the kitchen as various ‘treats’ are dropped to floor. As a fussy eater, I too have benefitted from being forced to sample various foods. It’s a whole new world with chocolate, MacDonalds and pasties strictly off the menu (at least while E is awake anyway).

E however, is certainly taking his time. He will put food to his mouth, but it is all greeted with the same horrified look. I even turned to purées in a bid to see if he would swallow something, but it all ends up either on his bib or in the dog. I’m told patience is key and that food before one is fun, but having gone to the effort of preparing tasty foods (usually while entertaining E at the same time), it would be nice to see some of it ingested *adopts zen-pose and starts chanting*.

We’ll get there in the end – although both me and the dog will be the size of a house by then. Am sure that E would love a pasty if he could have one though!


Ashamed as I am to admit this, yesterday was the first time I’d tried scrambled eggs. And it was good! E, naturally, wore most of it.