Piglet Vs. Literature: Part 2

Piglet seems to have developed a rather disturbing new habit.  Several times this week I have caught him banging his head-apparently deliberately-on his cot or my bed.  Upon consulting Dr Google about this distressing new hobby I have learned the following:
Piglet has above average intelligence
Head banging is totally normal
Piglet must be autistic
Piglet is a Romanian orphan

Obviously some of these possibilities are more appealing than others.

Anyway, in an attempt to stimulate the first of these options, today I took Piglet to the library.  Now I must admit that Piglet does not seem to be overly keen on books at this present time.  In fact, whenever I try to read to him he either a) tries to grab the book and throw it around or b) crawls as quickly as possible in the opposite direction, usually right off the side of the bed (I basically have to cling on to him at all times whilst on the bed.  The other night I was woken up by an almighty crash and the sound of hysterical crying, only to find that he had rolled right off in his sleep.  This did not go down well in light conversation at work, where I suddenly felt the eyebrows of all present company rise slightly as I regaled this witty oh-aren't-children-funny anecdote, as though I had just casually admitted to waterboarding my son during his evening bath).  Today, however, there was a Netmums meet-up at the library, during which they were going to be talking about some stuff that doesn't apply to me, such as flexible working (ha ha ha) and starting your own business (I once sold some stuff on Ebay and made an actual loss).

Now one friend of mine, a devotee of Mumsnet, once told me that she preferred Mumsnet to Netmums because the latter was "a bit working class," so I was expecting to feel right at home the place to be populated by people with Croydon facelifts and children called Chardonnay, but it turned out that in fact the Netmums posse consisted of nice well-spoken ladies with well-behaved children who sat still and looked on magnanimously as Piglet crawled around crazily trying to steal their scooters, pushchairs and any shoes they happened to have removed from their feet.  This meant that I ended up somewhat disengaged from the conversation as I was continuously having to run across the library and stop Piglet from emptying entire bookshelves and throwing the contents across the floor, in much the same manner to how he rolls at home with my own book collection, now sadly mostly ripped to shreds or soaked with water on a daily basis.  To be honest though, I pretty much switched off and decided to leave at the point when the speaker, who was talking about setting up a business when her children were small, decisively proclaimed that if you were always working when your child was young, by the time they turned ten you would have lost them forever, and due to your failure as a mother by not putting the effort in during the early years and being there to wipe away their every tear and change their every nappy, you were setting yourself up for a lifetime of emotional distance, bad behaviour, and basically having you and your child physically enact all the lyrics from Cats in the Cradle by Harry Chapin.

That song always made my dad cry.  Not sure why, as it seems that in real life it's generally only mothers who come in for the sort of criticism that blames every one of an individual's personal failings/murderous tendencies/despotic dictatorships on the failure of their female parent to be a cookie-baking, treasure hunt-organising, dedicated to home and hearth Perfect Mother.  The dads can work all they want and no one ever implies that they are neglecting their true vocation and ruining the next generation for all of humanity.

Anyway, my lack of motherly skills evident, I skulked off, only returning when I saw that the queue in Starbucks was a bit long, and I stealthily snuck back into the library to use the coffee shop, hoping not to be seen by any of the Net Mums.  Sometimes I think when Piglet is older he will turn on me and accuse me of loving coffee more than him.  The boy is basically being raised in the highchairs of Cafe Nero, Costa and Starbucks.  The Starbucks staff don't even have to ask me my name anymore. Some of them can even spell it.

And I made him play on his own while I watched an episode of Mad Men this evening.  I'm going to Hell in a Handcart.

Positive Sleep Associations

This is my latest scintillating read.

The wrinkled sheet underneath (yes that is on my bed) is basically a metaphor for Piglet's current sleeping patterns.  Well, who irons a sheet anyway?  I mean, who even owns an iron?

As I write, Piglet is sleeping soundly at my feet in his bouncy chair.  To look at his angelic face, anyone would assume that the last thing he has is a sleep problem, but appearances are deceiving.  For reasons unknown, today he has been sleepy all day and whinging loudly whenever awake.  I have therefore spent most of the day feeding, rocking or walking him to sleep; the latter around the industrial estate encircling Wembley Stadium in the wind and driving rain, with a nearby concrete-making works blowing bits of sand and gravel into my face at approximately the speed of a tornado whilst I clung desperately to the pram to avoid it being whipped up into the air and Piglet having an unintentional Mary Poppins moment.

To say this amount of sleep is unusual for Piglet is an understatement.  Usually he barely sleeps during the day, then spends much of the night whinging and failing to go to sleep, before finally dropping off sometime after midnight.  Dr Richard Ferber of book in picture above fame says that babies need to form positive sleep associations, so I have been bombarding Piglet with images of this lot:

None of these creatures are going to scare a young baby in any way.  And all of their antics are very relaxing and do not in any way involve such hyperactivity-inducing pastimes as singing, dancing, saying their own name over and over again in squeaky baby-language or chasing each other around a garden armed with a sponge.  My personal favourite character is this dude on the right:

What a ledge.  Would not be at all alarming if you were walking through the woods and ran into this chap.  IMAGINE IF IT STARTED CHASING YOU.  I might add that despite appearances, this picture is not a grainy CCTV shot of two people the police want to speak to regarding a series of armed attacks on innocent dog-walkers.

In a further attempt to give Piglet some positive sleep associations-and of course to get him interested in all things literary-I have also been reading him a series of bedtime stories on the theme of bedtime and night time.

Hold on, no not that one.

This one!

I know, it looks like it may not be a whole lot better.  I found this gem yesterday in the library.  It was the first book I picked up, but I had to leave quickly because there was a two year old child trying to attack Piglet.  I kid thee not.  Piglet was-unusually and only because he was in the pram and we had been walking-asleep.  As I wheeled the pram through the library to the children's section, I heard a small voice saying "baby!  Sleepy baby!"  This was followed by the owner of said voice following us-in full view of his mother who did absolutely nothing about the situation-poking Piglet with a soggy biscuit-covered hand, and then blocking the pram from the front whilst clinging onto the underside of it so that I very nearly had to actually ram the little blighter to get rid of him.  Instead, I announced in my sternest teacher voice that the baby was sleeping, thank you very much, and much as we both appreciated the help manoeuvring the pram, he did not wish to be disturbed.  I then made a very quick exit and hence Piglet is now stuck with Good Night Wisconsin as his bedtime story.  Interestingly, the back cover says that there are other, similar books in the series, not just other states of America, but other countries, so I'm not sure why Wembley Library only seems to stock the one about Wisconsin, which is somewhere that I doubt many of the locals have been, not even me, although I did confess to Piglet familiarity with some of the places and items mentioned ("Lake Michigan!  Mummy's been there Piglet!  And look!  They're harvesting cranberries in that picture.  Mummy has a carton of cranberry juice in the fridge!"  Clutching at straws).  My personal highlight of the book, though, is the way that children are encouraged to greet everyone in Wisconsin in the same way that In the Night Garden encourages them to greet and say goodnight to a family of miniscule wooden pegs and a pretend airship. 

GREETINGS, WISCONSIN CHEESE MAKERS!

Goodness knows what randomness awaits poor Piglet in his dreams.  It really is no wonder he has such trouble sleeping.

Piglet, Seven Weeks, Shows Obscene Lack of Interest in Becoming Serious Intellectual

Piglet is asleep and I am seizing a moment to write.

He is asleep in his baby bouncer.  I am not convinced that this is the best place for me to implement my new bedtime routine, but I am frankly too scared to put him in his cot in the bedroom in case Something Terrible happens.

Something Terrible is bound to happen because
a) there is an actual WALL between the bedroom and the living room.  This means that I may not hear whatever terrible atrocity befalls him if I am not right there, in the bedroom with him.  Preferably standing over him, peering into the co-sleeper.
b) There is a warning on the co-sleeper which states that "children must not be left unattended when the side is down."  The side is down.  And I do not know how to put it up so that there is a barrier between the relative safety of the co-sleeper and the Pit of Danger that is my bed.

Therefore Piglet is in the baby bouncer, where I can keep a close eye on him whilst writing this blog and watching Hotel India (look at me, uber-mother, multi-tasking!)

As well as trying to get him into the routine of sleeping from 8.30pm until as late as possible in the morning, albeit in the baby bouncer, I have been trying to get Piglet interested in books.  This is obviously so that when he grows up he will be regarded as one of the world's foremost intellectuals.  The book I have chosen is called "Baby Sees Just Spots."  It goes without saying that I sincerely hope that Piglet sees more than just spots, but apparently babies are interested in somewhat spotty-and preferably black and white-patterns.  With that in mind, I have thrust the book in his face at every available opportunity today, proffering it like a tasty morsel of mother's milk whilst exclaiming enthusiastically "Look Piglet!  PATTERNS!  You LIKE patterns, don't you?  All babies like patterns!"
Piglet has proven to be completely uninterested in this book.  Hopefully this is not a foretaste of a future rejection of all things academic.

In order to introduce Piglet to the range of experiences that all seven week old babies should have, I also took him to the residents' social event for the block of flats where I live.  This was not in any way a ruse for Mummy to get out of the flat and see some actual adults, and at no point did the (infinitely small) possibility that any of the other residents might be attractive young men cross Mummy's mind.  In the event, my prediction that any attractive young men present would show absolutely zero interest in a thirty-four year old single mother with a baby strapped to her front proved to be correct anyway, so this is essentially a moot point.  Anyway, Piglet behaved impeccably in his sling, dropping off to sleep almost instantaneously.  He is, however, making up for it now.  It is 11.32pm (yes, some time has passed since I started writing this.  See previous entry for what may have been happening during this time).

So much for my 8.30pm sleep routine.

Attempts to Turn Baby Into a Genius: Part One

Following reading an article on the Guardian website about babies' intellectual development being boosted by their parents talking to them, I have just spent the last ten minutes giving Foetus a running commentary on What I'm Looking At On The Internet.

This included reading some articles on things I thought he might be interested in (the new Postman Pat film.  The Guardian gave it two stars and called it "inappropriate" so I decided we would give it a miss), my own personal comments on Christina Aguilera popping up on Facebook to use Mother's Day in the US to plug her new perfume ("bit shameless, that") and the latest on the search for MH370 ("they still haven't found it").

Foetus responded in the same way as usual-by saying nothing and wriggling about a bit.  I wonder if he's listening.