Overloaded
Jun. 16th, 2005 08:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
radegundYesterday I collected my altogether magnificent baby from the creche, as usual, to be told that he'd been horribly upset for much of the afternoon. We're not sure what's going on, but for the last week-ish he's been growing more and more opposed to his prandial spoo. Food that he's happily lapped up for months (carrot, potato, green beans, courgette, broccoli, chickpeas; variously coalesced), he now turns away from, lips clamped, whimpering. It's awful - and it makes me feel like the Worst Mother Ever, because if he doesn't want what I bring with him in the morning, he starves...
Yesterday, in addition to throwing up the quarter-portion of potato and carrot that he had been persuaded to eat, he didn't have much interest when I arrived to breastfeed him (oh yeah: I'm visiting the creche every lunchtime now for a feed - this turns out to be lovely, despite the increased complexity in my working day). So by the time he woke up from his nap he was, predictably, STARVING. He had his banana (which always goes down well, although I gather that only a Very Bad Mother Indeed would give her child banana every day, on account of the high potassium levels), but thereafter he was inconsolable.
I hate this. It makes me feel so helpless - makes me want to leave my job so I can spend however long it takes to find out what my child needs and make sure he gets it. I wish he could explain to us what the matter is. I don't know if he's sick, if this is a passing thing, if it's a particular taste he's gone off, if some nasty experience (which I didn't witness, of course, because I don't see him all day) has left him unwilling to eat. I just don't know, and I despair of finding out.
The creche person theorises that he has a sweet tooth. This tallies with his consistent willingness to eat fruit and Petits Filous, but it doesn't explain why he's suddenly decided that vegetables are bunk.
So anyway, I bundled a silent and wanly reproachful baby into his buggy and set off home, phoning![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
niallm on the way to whine. Oisín was listless and tired; I was anxious and pretty hungry myself.
Got to the gate. Parked the buggy while I retrieved the wheelie bin from the road. Gnashed teeth at the general unfairness of the world. Wondered if there was anything in the house I could prepare within five minutes to feed Oisín (a Good Mother would have a selection of nutricious and tempting snacks forever at the ready, you understand, but not I). Wheeled the buggy into the porch - and ONLY THEN noticed the jagged hole in the front door glass.
Yes, while we were out, it seems that some FUCKER had the STAGGERING GALL to try and break into our house. Let me say at once that they did not succeed - it seems to have been an opportunistic thing, someone hoping that the Chubb lock wasn't on. They broke the glass and tried the latch, but didn't do anything else. Nothing was taken, and the only damage was to the pane of glass. (Worryingly, the alarm didn't go off, but we're getting that checked.)
I got the buggy inside, turned off the alarm, phoned the police, then did the usual just-home things. Niall arrived back and pitched in. We phoned glaziers and insurers, fed Oisín, organised a rudimentary dinner. Played with Oisín and put him to bed. Phoned the police again. Spoke to them when they finally turned up. (Nothing they could do, of course, beyond logging the incident.) At no point did I sit down and cry. I'm not quite sure why, because I wanted to, and it's the kind of thing I do when I'm stretched thin and yet another bad thing happens, but it just didn't seem a possibility. Is this parenthood, I wonder?
The evening took a sharp turn for the better whengothwalk, inannajones and olethros turned up. They helped Niall sweep up broken glass and stick cardboard over the hole, while I showered. The rather fine game session that followed did much to soothe the troubled breast of the Radzer.
Nonetheless, I'm sick of this. I want something unexpected and pleasant to happen, for a change.
Yesterday, in addition to throwing up the quarter-portion of potato and carrot that he had been persuaded to eat, he didn't have much interest when I arrived to breastfeed him (oh yeah: I'm visiting the creche every lunchtime now for a feed - this turns out to be lovely, despite the increased complexity in my working day). So by the time he woke up from his nap he was, predictably, STARVING. He had his banana (which always goes down well, although I gather that only a Very Bad Mother Indeed would give her child banana every day, on account of the high potassium levels), but thereafter he was inconsolable.
I hate this. It makes me feel so helpless - makes me want to leave my job so I can spend however long it takes to find out what my child needs and make sure he gets it. I wish he could explain to us what the matter is. I don't know if he's sick, if this is a passing thing, if it's a particular taste he's gone off, if some nasty experience (which I didn't witness, of course, because I don't see him all day) has left him unwilling to eat. I just don't know, and I despair of finding out.
The creche person theorises that he has a sweet tooth. This tallies with his consistent willingness to eat fruit and Petits Filous, but it doesn't explain why he's suddenly decided that vegetables are bunk.
So anyway, I bundled a silent and wanly reproachful baby into his buggy and set off home, phoning
niallm on the way to whine. Oisín was listless and tired; I was anxious and pretty hungry myself.Got to the gate. Parked the buggy while I retrieved the wheelie bin from the road. Gnashed teeth at the general unfairness of the world. Wondered if there was anything in the house I could prepare within five minutes to feed Oisín (a Good Mother would have a selection of nutricious and tempting snacks forever at the ready, you understand, but not I). Wheeled the buggy into the porch - and ONLY THEN noticed the jagged hole in the front door glass.
Yes, while we were out, it seems that some FUCKER had the STAGGERING GALL to try and break into our house. Let me say at once that they did not succeed - it seems to have been an opportunistic thing, someone hoping that the Chubb lock wasn't on. They broke the glass and tried the latch, but didn't do anything else. Nothing was taken, and the only damage was to the pane of glass. (Worryingly, the alarm didn't go off, but we're getting that checked.)
I got the buggy inside, turned off the alarm, phoned the police, then did the usual just-home things. Niall arrived back and pitched in. We phoned glaziers and insurers, fed Oisín, organised a rudimentary dinner. Played with Oisín and put him to bed. Phoned the police again. Spoke to them when they finally turned up. (Nothing they could do, of course, beyond logging the incident.) At no point did I sit down and cry. I'm not quite sure why, because I wanted to, and it's the kind of thing I do when I'm stretched thin and yet another bad thing happens, but it just didn't seem a possibility. Is this parenthood, I wonder?
The evening took a sharp turn for the better when
gothwalk, inannajones and olethros turned up. They helped Niall sweep up broken glass and stick cardboard over the hole, while I showered. The rather fine game session that followed did much to soothe the troubled breast of the Radzer.Nonetheless, I'm sick of this. I want something unexpected and pleasant to happen, for a change.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-16 08:30 pm (UTC)I'm sure OisÃn's just got a case of the will-nots, though - isn't he the age where food preferences start to kick in? But, yes, of course you think you'd know if you were there all the time. Bet you wouldn't, though.
a Good Mother would have a selection of nutricious and tempting snacks forever at the ready, you understand, but not I
Oh, stop it. That mythical GM is also popping copious valium and neurotically disinfecting her child until he is weak, listless and prone to minor illnesses :)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-21 11:29 am (UTC)On the will-nots: turned out to be an aversion to lumps. And you're right, I wouldn't know what was wrong if I were there all the time, but I'd be able to put aside other things for a while to devote some time to working it out. The problem with the current setup is that I have about a billionth of a second every week to decide what food to make, and if I get it wrong, there's very little time to organise a backup.
On the mythical GM: if there's one thing my child is in no danger of, it's an overly clean environment!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-21 01:57 pm (UTC)Mine neither! Good to know we're definitely doing something right, isn't it?