Overloaded

[radegund]

Yesterday 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 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.

Comments

[ailbhe]

Jeez the ick fuck ack yuck damn. Duck. And other ck words.

I ama fulltime stayathome mothering mother and I often wonder what the hell I'm going to feed her. If in doubt, it's banana. We're good - we limit her to one a day, most days. Some days she doesn't get any. But *gods* she likes it a lot.

Warning: Many forms of Rice Dream have added salt.

Suggestions: Pasta (takes seconds). Ryvita (lasts for weeks even if you forget to seal the packet). Hard-boiled-egg if he's on to that sort of thing.

Is he teething? Is the food either too lumpy or not lumpy enough? Linnea will now reject food that's not lumpy enough unless it's porridge, which means soup is out.

Perhaps he's identified a dietary deficiency. Too much nutritious fibre in his diet and he needs more stodge? More fat? Apparently a lot of babies don't get enough fat nowadays, if their parents eat healthily.

Or maybe he's having a Banana Phase.

We're hoping to be able to feed Linnea jars for the Big Trek - 8 hours travelling the first day, then a wedding, then a day of rest, and then most of 10 hours travelling before our real holiday. If she'll accept the pap that comes in jars it will all be much simpler.

And sometimes she likes jars more than what we give her, if she's not in a lumpy mood.

Ho hum. It's all guesswork, really.

[radegund.livejournal.com]

Muck cluck yuck. And gnocchi. But things are better now.

Banana is the default here, too. Don't tell anyone. We haven't tried pasta at all yet, and he really doesn't see the point of chewing so Ryvita is a while away. Egg may be the next step, in fact.

Your "too lumpy" remark turned out to be right on the money. Thanks!