A Biting Child: Dentally Expressed Frustration

Linnea has been bitey lately. I think I am premenstrual. I bet the two are related.

The biting seems to be an expression of frustration - she's not given to stamping her feet, and it's easy to physically restrain her from throwing things or hitting people, even when I have Emer in the sling, so biting is what's left. Sometimes I can do something to lessen the frustration, and sometimes I can't. Being stuck on a crowded train at rush hour for two hours is boring, and there are only so many scribbles one can draw, and so many stories one can hear, while sitting still in one's seat (or, in this case, in the buggy, while I stood beside her with Emer in the sling).

I've been wondering whether carrying a chew toy would help. She's not teething. She doesn't seem to enjoy hurting me, and will in fact often try to bite just my clothes, not me at all. The other thing I need to do is make sure I don't ask more of her than a two-and-a-half-year-old can cope with, but that's not always easy to judge, given the day-by-day nature of being twoannahalf.

Kew!

Yesterday we went to Kew to meet Kim. It was fab. The train trip over was wonderful, with a few examples of Linnea being extremely well-behaved and cooperative above the norm, and a series of just-enough-time connections. It was one of those trips where paying for her ticket was cheaper than taking her for free, so there you go.

Kew was lovely. It was freezing when we left the house, and wet. By the time we'd walked from the gate to the first greenhouse, it was very very warm and we were surprised by the drizzle. The greenhouse itself - the Temperate House, I believe - was boiling hot, but had fish in the basement so that was ok. We had a snack there, and later chips near the playground. Someone at the playground asked how old Linnea was and commented that her language was extraordinary, which was lovely, because usually people think she's older than she is and are nasty about it, since maturity in one field means they can expect it in all. Linnea's language IS extraordinary. Lots of babies' language is extraordinary, and it's lovely. And useful - "I wunning away down a HILL!" as my sister's toddler yelled while dashing straight down the ungated front driveway towards the road.

Hurrah for chips - All Calories, All The Time. Fending off the monster of unwanted weightloss and also getting sarky with the children because I'm tired.

We forgot to get a map; I will remember next time, because they are useful and tell one where the loos and babychange are, though there are so many of both in Kew that one can find them unguided.

I'd like to go there once a month on a weekday, in addition to family weekend day trips. Will have to find people to go with, mind you.

Crying in public

We went to Tiggers in the rain - when we left the house I couldn't quite see the end of the street, and we ehard plenty thunder en route. I did sort of beg Linnea not to go, but she had her red rainsuit on and new blue wellies (the ones she wore yesterday seemed to be making her trip, so she's in new ones now - turns out that the ones I bought before Emer were born never made it onto her feet and she's been in size sevens!) and was raring to go. So we rared.

My rainsuit isn't waterproof. The buggy raincover is. Linnea's rainsuit is. Tiggers was great, and afterwards we got the bus to town and I went to Altimus and got a new pullover-style rainjacket and a pair of waterproof trousers. They are both XL so they will also fit Rob, and they go over Emer in the sling, and are breatheable, and pack down to almost nothing. And there's no hood, so I will get a hat and not be blinded when I want to look from side to side. Oh, and the jacket is that lurid hivis yellow, too! Dry and visible - what a combination! Now to stop Rob pinching them for triking to work...

Then we met friends for lunch, and then we headed into town to find tights for Emer. There was nothing in 100% cotton for age 3-6 months. In 70% cotton, there were pink stripes, pink spots, or pink with glitter. We tried a few places, and extracting her was very difficult. Eventually I got her out and decided to give up any pretense of being sensible with money and buy us tea and smoothie and biscuit. So I did. And then I had the energy to get her us all to the bus-stop and home, so I assembled all the bits and crossed the road and realised the bus-ticket had vanished in the time since assembling all the bits and getting to the other side of the road. Went back to look for it. Failed. Linnea took her wellie off and tried to run around the wet street. I put it back on. Went to indoor area where I could search my handbag in case I had put it in there by accident, which I hadn't, but I did find more busfare.

Linnea removed her wellie again and ran away and fell over and howled in a speculative manner and refused to come back and refused to put her wellie back on and refused to stand up and refused to come back and eventually I phoned Rob in tears and had him talk to her. She stayed still long enough for me to get the wellie back on. So we went ot the bus-stop - Linnea lay down and refused to move, so I picked her up; she yelled OW OW OW the whole way. I plonked her on the seat in the bus shelter and put her wellie back on and then she stayed fairly well-behaved; she likes the seats in bus shelters. I sniffed discreetly and pretty much managed to wipe tears away as they arrived, so looked like a manic face-swiper rather than a weepy mum.

Bus trip was ok apart from one woman with bad pushchair-manners. Got off. Sat on bench. Cried.

Got home, fell asleep in front of Maisy DVD.

Work

Dear god. I have just found out that Rob has more overtime planned this month. Three nights the first week, two nights the second week, three nights the third week, and one night the fourth week. Every month I'm told that it's almost over, that the overtime won't be necessary much longer. It keeps happening. What about our life? Three nights out of five is (a) too much for me to cope with regularly and (b) making Rob so tired he's pretty constantly as vague and unreliable as if he'd missed his antidepressants.

It's not as if I'll get any rest at the weekend, either, because we're going to the in-laws'. Which is great, we haven't been for ages, but hardly restful.

Why isn't he being paid enough for this work that we can hire a babysitter, so at least *I* could go to bed early and someone would still be around to play with the baby when she wakes? All I'm necessary for is feeding her, after all. No, he's not getting paid, he's getting time off in lieu which he's not allowed to take when we want him to. Still, at least it means I was able to make us all dentist appointments, right?