However, my phone is slowly dying the death of the dud and irreplaceable battery. I'd like a new one.
Ideally, it would be large by modern standards (1 cm thick and most of 12cm long when open), have rubbery edges so that it can be dropped and chewed by children, clamshell so that it doesn't dial out from my pocket and I don't need to use fingertips to answer calls (my fingers don't always do as they're told), with big buttons. I'd like a camera, vibe-then-ring ringtone, and if I get a choice I'd love a radio and MP3 player. Being able to receive all sorts of newfangled SMS styles like business cards and photographs would be a bonus, since my Irish family send these things a lot.
I have very little success with Sony Ericson or Nokia, and get on well with Motorola. I have found one whcih seems fairly cheap, but would love to know what you think.
I really want to nominate [my midwife] for "Community Midwife of the Year" but the Mamas and Papas nominations have closed for the year. The British Journal of Midwifery is accepting nominations from colleagues and supervisors of midwives until 22nd September, at http://www.britishjournalofmidwifery.
My personal recommendation of her is below. I hope you see fit to put her name forward.
Yargh. At least they've extended the deadline.
Along with sneezing, my incisions have also decided now is a good time to develop a cough. We managed peanut butter on toast for lunch. I really need to drink more. And birth injuries from Linnea's delivery mean I now have to leave two children unhappy while I hide in the bathroom and scream.
I must try to reread my nomination for Fiona soon and see if it's worth sending in yet. MORE COMMENT PLEASE.
I think Emer just woke up.
No being kicked by the toddler
No lifting the toddler
Really, no cha-cha-ing
Especially no sneezing. Now, how does one prevent a sneeze? I know how to hold my nose but it doesn't stop the abdominal muscles doing their thing.
(Also, I am faintly stressed that Rob hasn't called from work yet today. Perhaps he's busy.)
*Ideally* it also should be small enough to fit into the nappy bag so that I only need to carry one bag around when that's what I'm doing.
I have stacks of bags. None of them appear suitable. The best sized one is multicoloured stripes but not waterproof and the colours will run as soon as anyone sicks up on it. The other favourite is blue denim, but the colours run and it has a small hole in it I fully intend to mend one day.
I want a small, bright bag with a few seperate pockets, waterproof, big enough for all my stuff including long enough for a biro, which doesn't weigh much, will wipe clean inside and out, and, preferably, has a link to a black hole somewhere for extra storage space.
I refuse to try home dying again after the disastrous experiences I've had with it before. I seem jinxed for home dying. It's a surefire way to end up washing my face in water that something has bled colour into via my facecloth, and wearing underwear with weird trim and elastic.
So - do I order 'em all from the Happy Baby Slings lady, who is kind and understanding and really, really not cheap? Or has anyone a suggestion I haven't tried yet?
http://www.dribblefactory.com/ - nothing remotely suitable
http://www.sunshinetots.co.uk/ - Apparently have long-sleeved vests; "This 100% cotton long sleeved vest is generously cut, poppers under the crotch and has a Bright Bots character embroidered on the front. Colour: pink, red, blue, purple"
http://www.basics4baby.co.uk/ - have no unisex section at all.
Nordic Kids have a possible, though it's striped.
Jako-O have yellow, red and blue vests, though their pictures make the red look pretty pink. They also have a fairly bright orange sleepsuit.
I don't know what to think about consent any more. I have, in the past 15 months, consented to a whole bunch of htings I didn't want to consent to. I've given written consent for violent violations of my body, over and over again, by total strangers. At least once I gave the consent while incapable of remembering my own date of birth or reading a simple sentence.
I gave all these consents in the belief that I would end up a healthier, happier person because of them.
And I suppose I have, in a way, ish. I mean, I could be dead. I am definitely healthier than I was before the operation in December. But as I sit here, aching from the exam I had on Monday, with a nice lump where the canula was and a throb where, um, yes, well...
How is this really consent? Where's my choice? Why is it called consent when it's actually just forced compliance with the universe's evil plans? Whose body is this anyway and who gets to decide what happens to it?
I had more power over my own body when I was 16. I was given total power and ownership over my body, in every way that was meaningful to me, when I was 16 years and 47 days old. And I hung onto that. Now I've had to hand that power over to people I don't know and don't trust.
There's something wrong with all of this.
We have some CDs of nursery rhymes, action rhymes, that sort of thing. About 5 CDs now, I think, all called "My First Action Songs CD" or similar. And they are all.
By a manic depressive adult whose dog has just died, accompanied by a bunch of children who have been told to stand up straight, stop smiling, no giggling, and if you miss a note there's going to be trouble, Mavis, yes, I see you, you were going to have fun, weren't you, well we're not here to have fun, we're here to SING!
God. There has to be a better way. We have a CD of Swedish children singing Christmas songs which sounds like, you know, a bunch of kids singing - it's lovely. But it's all Christmassy and we don't know the actions. Are there any CDs out there with kids singing English or america action songs that sound like they're not at a funeral? Because "One finger on thumb keep moving" to the tune of Faure's "In Paradisum" would be amusing on Radio 4, but it's not great for boogying in the dining room with the baby.
Well, that was the shortest appointment ever. We arrived, were shown to a room, a registrar came in (whome we'd never met before). I described my symptoms, he said he wanted to examine me, I said I had hoped that the ultrasound they did before, plus my GP's examination, might suffice. He expressed surprise that I appeared upset (How many people approach with equanimity a rectal exam that is absolutely guaranteed to be painful? Hmm? Answers, please!)and toddled off to speak to the chap I met before, the one who actually did the ultrasound. The "consultant". I'm a bit hazy on degrees here - but the consultant appears to be in charge.
The consultant thinks I have my expectations too high and that it's likely that this is as fixed as I get. He also thinks I'm too uptight to be examined anyway, so he's going to send me an appointment for an exam under general anaesthetic on the 8th of August.
Please excuse me while I freak out a bit here. My "expectations are too high". I expected to be 25, having had a kid, and able to do wildly unreasonable things like, ooooh, use a tampon, or, God forbid, have sex. And I can't. My baby is 14 months old now - or very nearly - and I am 26 and a half, and I'm beginning to feel like it's a form of secondary infertility. Rob and I are discussing how we might cope if this really is as good as it gets. We're both young. This is, pardon the melodrama, a life sentence for both of us.
This has got to be fixable. They can fix anything nowadays. If sex reassignment surgery is possible, surely fixing an owie ought to be, too?
- Any refined sugar
- Any added salt
- Too much banana
- Too much citrus
- Too much potato
- Cow's dairy produce except milk
- Cow's dairy produce except live yoghurt
- Live yoghurt
- Soya products
- Especially olives with garlic and chili
- Baby rice
- Adult rice
- White / refined grains
- Too much fruit
- Too much meat
- Too much starch
Also, many toddlers have not enough fat in their diets, apparently. And not enough fruit. And not enough meat. And not enough fibre. Just about the only thing everyone agrees on is salt and sugar. Oh, and peanuts. People are pretty sure about peanuts.
Luckily, it's hot enough that babies aren't all that hungry anyway, round these here parts...
I have just discovered that some books I read as a child were by Gene Stratton-Porter and appear to be very hard to get in the UK (we all know what "limited availability" means to Amazon, don't we?) so I'd like someone else to do my thinking for me.
"Girl of the Limberlost", "The Keeper of Bees," and "The Magic Garden" are the ones I'm most interested in - and I'm not sure that "The Magic Garden is the one I think it is so a plot summary would be nice.
We need help! Linnea and I are bored with our lunches. We need food that takes no cooking (well, boiled eggs are ok) and is easy to eat. If it can easily be taken on outings in a lunchbox for up to 6 hours, so much the better.
She will eat cooked tomatoes, but not raw. She will not eat oranges, mandarins, satsumas. She will eat bananas by the crate. She likes rice cakes but not if they have anything on them. She loves eggs.\
Go on then.
The mother of the baby who was having bowel problems is most grateful to you all. The baby is much better. I can't remember who suggested it, but what she did was cut down on the amount of fibre and fruit in the baby's diet, to stop irritating things further, and there was a dramatic improvement within 24 hours. And she's stayed improved.
As to my own health - my cough is greatly improved, I am no longer taking antibiotics so my itch and stomach upset are abating, and I ate a whole live yoghurt yesterday evening. It was fabulous.
Linnea's sleep pattern is changing again. 20:00 to 05:30 or so (with some brief wakings) and 12:00-14:30 or so. And two nights running she's had 14 oz of water as well as her usual night breastfeeds. I hope she's not getting ill. She seems well enough.
You're not still feeding her, are you?
No, I let her forage for her own food now. [Thanks, bopeepsheep]
She needs a hat! Why doesn't she have a hat?
Augh! no hat! I am a failure! Here, you take her! I'm unfit to be a mother! Oh nooooooo!
I'd never tell anyone how to raise their child, but...
You're going to anyway, yeah?
I couldn't bear to just look after my baby all day! How awful! How boring!
Yeah, well, my baby is good company.
Oh, you don't work?
[There is no witty riposte to this. The only reasonable response is homicide, which is irresponsible in someone who is a child's primary caretaker.]
Gosh, it must be nice, doing nothing all day.
It is.[No other response to this has the slightest effect in actually changing people's opinions. This one at least might make them jealous.]
When are you going to stop feeding her?
When are you going to stop eating?
Breastfed babies don't grow so well.
She'll grow up clingy and needy.
Just like me!
You shouldn't let her play with that.
Didn't your mother ever tell you that you shouldn't talk to strangers.
Can you recommend a good book of photographs of babies' faces? It needs to be lightweight (my RSI is predictably affected by having a baby to carry around all the time). I'm usually opposed to this kind of thing as I feel vaguely squeamish about the mild exploitation, but Linnea loves looking at photos o babies' faces, so I don't care how exploitative it is any more.
Does anyone know whether paracetemol and aceteminophen are the same thing, and what the par-mol and minophen bits of the words mean? And the acete bit, for that matter?
Can people who know Rose please ask her to recommend a good Evil Tea for my sinus cold, which has spread to my ears and is causing me immoderate pain? As a breastfeeding mother, I'm not allowed any of the really good drugs. I've been using lemon, ginger and honey, but it's not very effective.
There are rumours (in the instruction manual) that it may be illegal to use a Tommee Tippee baby motion/breathing monitor in Ireland because of it transmitting to the parent unit. It this codswallop or should I conceal the fact that I'm going to import it?