Excuse bloglessness please. I have been busy.

For starters, we've just had Uncle P, Auntie M and 3 children (11, 3 and 18 months) to stay over Easter in our 2 bed apartment. It brought out control-freaky tendencies I didn't know I had, and made me realise that my chaos threshold is much lower than I originally thought. It was alot of fun, too, but I've needed a few days just to rest. In a darkened room. In the foetal position. Rocking.

So, flat is back to normal now, and so am I. And there has been a breakthrough in the "udders" saga. Last night, after our story (part of the routine now), I started feeding Emma as usual...then she looked me coolly in the eye and bit me. That's that, thought I, whipped her off and put her to bed. She yelled for about 3 minutes then fell asleep.

In other words: I have stopped breastfeeding.

I should feel liberated, but I feel rather disoriented instead. What do I do with that 20mins I had just to gaze at my little girl and mull over how pretty she is? And I fear that E will just ignore me even more these days (shoes and shiny things being her main preoccupation: she's a girl's girl.)

Hello, Mister Underhill (from the comments section.) In answer to your question: my golden-haired snow elf will be 1 on 21st April.

More middle-class maternal neurosis

The good news: it has been three days now since we ditched the morning feed, and the Golden-Haired Snow Elf appears to have forgotten it ever existed. The minute she is out of bed first thing she goes straight onto all fours, looking for wires to chew. The trauma was short-lived, praise the Lord.

The bad news: she hates milk. Any old milk. Cow's, formula. Haven't tried sheep or goat milk, but in short, if there are no bosoms involved, milk is pfffff! urgggghh! I have stopped waving a pretty beaker full of the stuff in her disgusted (but still adorable) face.

If - when - I drop the bedtime feed, that means no more milk at all. And babies are meant to drink milk, right? Should I hang onto that feed in which case? Or just cram her full of cheese and yoghurt? Our latest strategy is making the bedtime feed less breastcentric: more stories, more cuddles, less udders.
Ho-hum.
Next post: world poverty and really important stuff.

Milk matters

When you breastfeed a tiny baby, people say things like "oh that's good" or smile approvingly at the Madonna-and-Childness of it all. Nowadays when I mention I'm still breastfeeding, the voice says "Good for you!" but the face says "Are you going to end up with a child like David Walliams in Little Britain?"

I am starting to wonder the same thing.

Emma is nearly 11 months, so we are still technically within the 'recommended' 1st year when the DOH says you should keep breastfeeding if possible and if you are enjoying it.

I have stopped enjoying it. Emma does not share my view.

The night before last I bought a box of formula and doggedly made up 2 types of bottle and a plastic beaker in the vain hope she would take one of them before bed. Just this brought me to the brink of a nervous breakdown and a new level of awe for folk who have exclusively bottle-fed from the beginning. (Should I still be sterilising everything? Do i really need to use cooled boiled water as it tells me to?) Emma's reaction: reject. reject. reject.

Unbowed, we tried again in the morning. She took about 2 sips from the beaker and then wailed, grabbing at my pyjamas for her usual. I didn't give in, but distracted her as best I could for the next couple of hours. Afterwards she seemed OK, but I was a total jelly inside.

How on earth I am going to get her to drop the evening feed I don't know.

Any suggestions?

I'm sorry, I'm sorry: I 've been back in Switzerladyland for 4 days and no blog action. There is a reason for this. I have been crook, mate, really really crook. I know 'less is more' in this context, but imagine if you will a grim cocktail of a temperature, nausea, tummy pain and -get this - 15 (at least) trips to the lav between 1 and 4.30am this morning for unspeakably horrible intestinal evacuations. Oh, and the Snowelf woke up screaming at 3am, perhaps because she was feeling left out, perhaps because she thought she was the only one with any entitlement to make a drama out of bottom contents (or maybe it's just her parents' projections) but most likely because she is teething and our 2 dramatic moments just coincided.

My doctor friend diagnosed a rotavirus over the phone as I stood in the hall, trembling in my pyjamas, ready in a nanosecond to make a bathroom dash. "Highly contagious" she said. So I spent the rest of the day in, trying to decontaminate every surface with Jif wipes.

Glamorous!

Emma had it last week ("Oh Mum, rotavirii are sooo last week!") so teething aside, she is fine. I am just nervous that, between the two of us, we've managed spread plague and illness through most Greater London postcodes. If you are one of the Infected, and are reading this feeling hateful:


I'M SORRY.

Jif wipe?

Usual Avoidance Tactics (UAT)

Hello.
The good news is I am going back to the UK tomorrow.
The bad news is I am fully immersed in UAT.
Here is what I have done today:
a) gone to Nyon (another Swiss town, never mind) to a second hand baby clothes sale
b) bought some second hand baby clothes
c) bought some chocolate and smelly cheese for the folks back home
d) read Heat magazine
e) thrown the Snow Elf repeatedly in the air; this gives her the giggles
f) scratched my head. Not nits. Still itchy though.
g) washed up
h) stared into space
i) flicked through an interesting book called "The Heart Must Break", all about Burma
j) thought about my latest niece, Esther, born on Sunday

Here is what I have not done today:
a) packed a suitcase for Emma and I

It's 9pm.