It had to come at some point, this leaving the warm, fuzzy domesticity of maternity leave and the bliss of these first nine months. On the 23rd of February, Ethan will officially have been on the outside for one day longer than the time he spent cradled inside me, and it will be a new beginning for both of us – I go back to work and he starts nursery the way we are to go on. This week we have a series of little trial runs, with three half-days at nursery to prepare us for the week after.

So these days are a heady mix of bustle, neuroses, adrenaline and emotional love. Not looking forward to it but will grit teeth like independent professional career woman and suppress blubbering mummy. Will have tissues at the ready. Tomorrow will also have window cleaner in order to clean the smudges that will be caused by smooshing one’s face up against the nursery windows.

Wish us luck.

1) Ethan started crawling and pulling up properly on Saturday.
2) We installed our first safety gate in the living room doorway yesterday. Today Ethan has crawled all the way across the living room to look for me in the kitchen, and has then pulled himself up on the bars and started announcing his arrival loudly and proudly.
3) We had our first settling-in session at Ethan’s nursery this morning. He was solemn, subdued and very still for about ten minutes. Then he started playing with the toys, crawling round the place and beaming broadly for all the staff.
4) I cooked my first meal for Ethan about an hour ago. It think it tastes good. He gets it for dinner, so I hope he thinks so too.
5) He is so funny, so chatty and such a darling. I think I might burst from pride and love.

Heeheeheeheehee

As usual, too much time has gone by since I first wanted to post something about starting the weaning process with Ethan. What I wanted to write about was weaning, but more broadly guilt.

I hadn’t a clue how to really begin weaning. I didn’t know why I was getting so stressed out about introducing solids either, apart from recognising that I am the sort of person who likes step-by-step plans and purpose-built containers for every purpose, which also explains why I like assembling flat-packed furniture, buying storage solutions, making lists, and constructing figurative boxes to put things into. Oh, and also getting things ‘correct’, which is easy to evaluate when following aforementioned step-by-step plans.

Unfortunately, one of the most important lessons I have learnt since becoming a mother is that no matter how many theories you have and how many books you have read, the one thing you cannot do is fit your baby into a box. And that there is no single ‘right’ answer when it comes to parenting, which can be a blooming pain, but there you have it. And that no one is going to give you a weaning timetable and plan and hold your hand in the unchartered territory of Him’s kitchen.

Which is why we started with baby-led weaning (BLW) in November when Ethan turned 6 months, because it seemed like a more natural process and easier to get my head around. Unfortunately, a couple of water-testing weeks afterward, we went on holiday to visit family, and spent half of the first week of our holiday in hospital with Ethan connected to a drip. So I suppose it was quite understandable that the weaning plans went on hold for a bit.

Fast forward a month from our return home, and my little chap is eating his solids like a champ and telling me in no uncertain terms to shovel the food in a little faster. He’s thoroughly enjoying himself.

But I’m not. Because I’m feeling guilt at not having got my act together to be the domestic goddess he deserves, with the result that neither have any lovely home-made purees passed his lips, nor have we persevered properly with BLW, so we are now neither here nor there and the unfortunate child has instead been having meals made by someone else’s loving hand (albeit loving hand wielding yummy organic goodies, though that’s just me trying to make myself feel better). I have two little cookbooks to choose scrummy things from to cook for him, and supermarkets and an organic box delivery scheme at my disposal. There is a food processor in the kitchen and little freezer/microwave safe boxes to store meals in. So why am I not getting off my bum to do something with them? I think I may well have a kitchen phobia.

To add to the guilt, I have to go back to work in three weeks and I am not ready to leave him at nursery. That, however, is a whole other blog post which I have neither time nor energy for at the moment. Good night.

Because they may or may not warrant their own posts, but if I don’t put them down I might forget.

***
The first thing I remember thinking about you, Ethan, was how on earth your papa and I had managed to create someone so beautiful.

***
Oh, and Ethan, I also thought about some other things I really want to remember about your first seven (now eight, oo-er where is the time going) months. Like your ‘poo face’. And the way you get so excited, especially when your papa gets you all overstimulated, you can’t stop screeching and waggling and kicking. And the way you look so incredibly pleased with yourself sometimes. And the way you play peekaboo with me in your cot and try to grab me through the cot bars. And the way you do your happy wriggle and clutch me with glee when I pick you up.

Reference for self:

Over the past week, Ethan, I have been very tickled by your newfound fascinations with:
- Blowing spit bubbles while eating (specifically, eating Orange Hued Things Likely To Leave Terrific Stains)
- Rolling over (and over and over and over and faster and faster and faster)
- Asking for MORE FOOD! MORE! Why are you SO SLOW, woman?

In other news, I go back to work next month after nine months of maternity leave. I am not sure I am going to like it.

<= THIS IS ME

I dunno. I think I got a look in somewhere.