In Praise of the R-Word

We worship at the altar of Gina Ford in this house.  I LOVE Gina Ford.  Love her.  If it wasn’t for her, my life would really be a whole lot more shit than it already is. (For anyone unaware of the deity that is GF – she’s a Scottish maternity nurse who wrote one of the first get-your-baby-to-sleep books [The Contented Little Baby Book], way back in 1999.) I will extol its virtues to anyone who cares to listen – and many who don’t -  because it flipping works wonders. 

Unfortunately, it’s clearly meant for parents who don’t have anything to do other than dedicate themselves wholly to their baby’s routine.  (Again for anyone not familiar with it:  it sets out a series of daily timetables, depending on your baby’s age, accounting more or less for every moment of your day.  The idea is that you can flick to the relevant section at any time and determine what you / your baby should be doing at that precise moment.)  So it will come as little surprise to learn that this time round, I’ve been a bad, bad disciple.  

Take, for instance, the 7am instruction:

Baby should be awake, nappy changed, and feeding, no later than 7am.

Alternatively... Baby should have woken up at 5am, SCREECHING, had the milk equivalent of a Full English (with extra fried bread), and passed out on top of you at 615.  Mother and baby should both be sound asleep, and only the shouts and roars of irate small people in the house will rouse them, comedy-style, at 735am.  

And the 8am:

Don’t forget to have your own breakfast and a drink by 8am.  Wash and dress baby, remembering to cream all his creases and dry skin.

Alternatively...

Put some toast in the toaster for yourself at 8.15, while simultaneously stirring porridge and yelling at the now-insane-with-hunger small people to GET-OFF-HER-HOW-MANY-TIMES-DO-I-HAVE-TO-TELL-YOU.  Leave the toast sitting there for the remainder of the day, while you get weaker and weaker, until your brain starts to melt, to the extent that you actually consider turning it into breadcrumbs before getting a grip and chucking it in the bin at 4.30pm. Leave baby in her pyjamas for the second day running – it’s only a bit of milky-vomit after all.  Check for obvious visual signs of neck-cheese, then feel bad and do a smell-check also.  While you’re gagging, run a wipe around her neck, then behind her ears for good measure.

8.50am, 9am & 945am:  Check his nappy and draw sheet and close the curtains. Settle the drowsy baby, half-swaddled and in the dark with the door shut, no later than 9am. He needs a sleep of no longer than 45 minutes. [At 9.45]...[o]pen the curtains and unswaddle the baby so that he can wake up naturally.

Alternatively...

Peg it upstairs with your hysterical, exhausted baby some time after 9am.  Swaddle the bejaysus out of her because she’s bucking like a sick horse, stick her in her cot and bung a soother in her mouth to calm her the fuck down. Wonder, as you do every day, what a draw sheet is.  Peg it back downstairs to where your 2 year old has found the hidden jar of Vicks Vapo-Rub, and has Vapo-Rubbed it all over her collection of cuddly toys, the kitchen floor, and her hair.  Gnash your teeth and mutter like a deranged woman, before setting about cleaning it up. At 10.20am glance up at the clock, give a roar and peg it back upstairs; yank the sleeping baby out of her bed and race backdownstairs.  Weep when you see that your 2 year old has been “helping” with the clean-up.

And so the day unravels... However, notwithstanding these slight variations to the routine, it still works. Seriously.  Despite having a newborn, you can actually plan your day. (My plan generally goes like this:  Stay indoors.  Put on a dvd and throw food at the children at regular intervals).  And, at some point – sooner, rather than later - you get treated to a relatively good night’s sleep. 

But is she contented, I hear you all ask;  does it do like it says on the tin?  Well, judge for yourselves:

Or maybe she’s just happy because she found, and ate, all the pies...