They all claimed to be the “right” and “only” method that any sane parent should follow.

Of course, when my baby arrived in the world I realised that no leaflet had the answer to every question – and it was very likely the leaflet in the GP surgery wouldn’t match the leaflet at the baby massage class or the leaflet at the breastfeeding support group or the leaflet at the baby sensory session.

They all disagreed, because they were all written by people with a different background and approach to the role of being a parent.

It was about the time of this realisation that I chucked all the leaflets in the bin and followed my wise mother’s advice, to “follow my instincts”. Because, really, as a parent those instincts are all you have. If going against them makes you upset or feel a strange knot in your stomach, then the approach you’ve taken isn’t working, so take another one.

I’ve battled against any attempts to “label” my methods when it comes to bringing up my daughter. I even shy away from the word “parenting” because, to me, it makes it seem like being a mother to my child is some sort of activity that I’m following, rather than just living life.

This time last year I wrote an article for a magazine about Baby-led Weaning, the route we took with our daughter. For my bio, I was asked to describe my “parenting approach”. I replied that I didn’t have an approach – or not one that could be easily labelled anyway. If anything, it was the “make it up as you go along” approach. That is still true today.

When my baby was but a mere slip of a thing, we packed her off to her own room, to sleep in the snore-free peace of her cot. Her long limbs meant she woke herself up kicking the sides of her moses basket, and her father’s blocked nose meant she was often woken mid milky slumber. This went against the “rules” in the leaflet, that you should sleep with your baby in your room until they were six months old.

I fretted a bit, sleeping with both doors to the rooms wide open and a baby monitor taped to the side of my head. Eventually the buzzing of the monitor and my softly sleeping baby told me to relax, and I accepted that moving her a bit further away, into a bigger bed, was the right decision – for us.

I sometimes felt a pang of guilt when other mums told me of their night-time cuddles with their babies in their own beds, often complaining with sleep deprived eyes that their baby “won’t sleep on his own”. I liked the idea of cuddling next to my baby, in my bed, falling asleep next to each other. But the reality – that my baby was a lanky little thing that kicked and squirmed and didn’t appreciate cuddles while drifting off to the land of nod – meant this thing called “co-sleeping” was never on the cards.

As Frog grew older, there were times when she would allow me to lie next to her, needing me close to her to help fall asleep. These times were rare and never ended with her in our bed at night. Often they’d see me lying on the floor of the cot next to her, holding her hand. Or lying next to her on my bed in the afternoon, trying to encourage her to give in to the exhaustion she fought.

And now, here we are.

Frog still likes her space. At 2 years and 2 months, she sleeps in a “big girl’s bed” and will often go from 13 to 14 to 15 hours a night. But there have been times recently – new times – where we’ve dabbled in a bit of co-sleeping action.

On holiday, for example. As fine as our glamping tent was, as sturdy and cosy and luxurious as the canvas walls were, they didn’t hide the noise of the seagulls at 4am. Or the wind flapping against the ropes outside.

So, for that week, my toddler fell asleep in her own bed and woke at around 3am, calling for me. Instead of battling with her to keep her in her own bed, scared of “making a rod for my own back” etc etc, I plonked her down beside me and drifted off with her curled against me like a cuddly little cat.

(Her dad, obviously, found himself relegated to the other bed. Being 6ft 5″ doesn’t suit co-sleeping, apparently.)

Fast-forward a few weeks later, to the last few days, and we’ve found ourselves in a similar situation.

Frog has woken up itchy and grumpy with chicken pox in the middle of the night, calling, “MUUUUUUMMY!” On these rare occasions, a flask of milk and a cuddle is usually enough to settle her and see her spend the rest of the night in her own bed. But the other night was different. The other night she got out of her bed and pushed open her door, before toddling into our bedroom and getting into bed with us at 4am.

It was rather nice actually.

And the following night when she woke up, I didn’t even try and get her to sleep in her own bed. I simply plonked her into bed next to me and we both drifted off to a contented sleep until proper morning.

But now I’m back to work. And proper morning for me IS 4am. So the co-sleeping has to be put on hold. As much as I like the odd nightly cuddle and the way my two year old reaches for my hand in the night, the thought of her getting up at 4am to face a day of grumpiness is not an option.

Luckily, she’s slept through the last couple of nights. It seems the chicken pox has done its worse and is leaving her be, for now at least.

So yet again, I find myself with a label I can’t stick to. I’m a fake co-sleeper. A fairweather co-sleeper.

But you know what? That suits me just fine.

The post The accidental co-sleeper appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

With a baby with a history of refusing to let anyone put anything in her mouth (seriously, no Calpol unless she was holding the spoon – and certainly no bottle) I dreaded the thought of weaning.

Baby-led weaning sounded like a far more fun – if messy – approach. One that wouldn’t see me suffer a nervous breakdown anyway.

I was very enthusiastic. I saw my baby eat cool stuff. Proper food. It was a bit weird and that was why I loved it. I wrote articles about it. I interviewed the Baby-led Weaning gurus on more than one occasion. I was a total convert.

And here I am, with a two year old child who has fads.

A few weeks ago at supper she pushed her plate away and said, “No Mummy! YOGHURT!” before tipping the contents of said plate on the floor. She tried the same tactic the following evening. I got cross. Never before had I been faced with a child of the fussy variety. I started breaking every rule in the Baby-led Weaning book.

“You will NOT leave this table until you’ve eaten at least THREE MORE SPOONFULS young lady!” I reprimanded. And then I gave in and let her have a yoghurt.

Once the flood-gates were open that was it. “No pudding until you’ve eaten your main course! Every. Last. Mouthful,” I frowned. “Eat your greens!” I scolded. “No you will NOT get down until you finish what’s on your plate,” I chided.

In short, I became a dinner lady from my own childhood. It’s amazing how ingrained these habits are. I stopped trusting that my daughter knew when she was full. I started turning mealtimes into a battle that I had to win.

After 18 months of happily trotting to the table, Frog started having tantrums about eating. Just the odd one, but as a foodie from the age of 6 months, this was odd.

So I made a radical decision a few weeks ago. Back to basics. Back to the Baby-led Weaning books.

I brought her mealtimes forward half an hour, so she wasn’t tired. I made sure I always ate with her, rather than sitting opposite staring at her. I offered fruit for pudding, but put it at her place setting next to her main course of food. I ignored what she ate.

And she ate.

She ate and she ate and she ate.

This is her two weeks ago, on a family trip to our local pub for her birthday. She ate pan fried scallops with Asian inspired slaw and ginger. That starter was far more interesting than the pasta and tomato sauce on the kids menu:

And last night? We had fishfingers, chips and peas, with lashings of ketchup. (We like to mix it up a bit.)

My toddler still has the odd tantrum around mealtimes. But now I’m confident enough to accept it’s because she’s tired and she’s not interested in the food.

There’s nothing she won’t eat, but there’s plenty she’ll refuse on certain days. Sometimes yoghurt is the in thing, sometimes it’s curry or paella or piri-piri chicken. Whatever. She knows what she likes and she knows how hungry she is. If she doesn’t want what she’s offered, then fine. But there’s nothing else on the menu. So that’s that.

And guess what? Food is fun again. It’s so fun, the toy kitchen bought for Christmas is back in use…

***

This post was written for this week’s Gallery at Sticky Fingers. Head over there to read the rest.

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All you have to do is dig out a picture of your beautiful child making a huge mess. Something like this:

This time last year Frog was learning about food.

She was learning to throw it, smear it all over her face and, occasionally, taste the odd morsel.

I remember one particular meal very clearly. We’d had carrot soup for lunch. It was everywhere – adorning the wall, floor and ceiling. Frog had food in her hair, all over her face and under every fingernail. I couldn’t imagine a day when this wouldn’t be the outcome of every mealtime. The thought of Frog using a spoon was a distant dream.

Fast-forward to today and we’re all about the spoons. Gone are the days of plunging chubby fists into plates of spaghetti. Instead, we’re scooping and aiming with perfect precision. The mess is, amazingly, minimal.

But I look back on those early days with fondess. We had great fun…

Now here’s the good bit.

If you too have messy children, you now have the opportunity to brag about it and win yourself a £75 Amazon voucher.

All you have to do is post a picture of your child making a mess, covered in mess or just generally looking messy, on your own blog, along with the following:

Here is my entry to the Appliances Online messiest kid competition at Mother’s Always Right.

Once you’ve done that, come back and leave a comment with a link to your post so I can see your picture. It really is that simple.

Then, in a couple of weeks, keep your eye on my Facebook page and Twitter feed to find out if you’ve won.

Terms and conditions:

• Competition open to UK residents only
• Competition closes Monday 6th February
• The winner will be chosen from the selection of photographs posted – the messier the better

The post A mess and a present (for you) appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Gone are the old, boring, white walls. Hidden are the original timber beams. And camouflaged are the dull beige carpet and cream rug. In their place are spots of tomato sauce, layered with smudges of mashed potato, accompanied with a fine dusting of rice crispies and crusty sausage.

Frog has taken to decorating like a true pro. She’s really gunning for Laurence Llewelyn Bowen’s job.

Now, everyone knows baby-led weaning is messy. Hideously messy. You need a crate of newspaper to cover the floors, at least two bibs for the baby and ten tonnes of overalls for yourself. Either that, or everyone gets naked and you all jump in the bath at the end of every mealtime. Not that we do that. Honest.

So, just as Frog was starting to get rather adept at using her hands to shovel food into her mouth (with only around 45 percent of it making it to the floor) we decided to up the ante. Not content with the fact our baby clearly loves her food and will eat anything (I mean this in the literal sense – we’ve caught her trying to lick a nugget of poo in the past)  we thought it would be a good idea to introduce a spoon.

Idiots.

I’ve admitted in the past I have a tendency towards the competitive side. I’m ashamed to say it, but despite all my promises to leave the baby race etc etc, I’ve jumped straight back in. My nearly-13-month-old daughter will NOT be left behind. Oh no. She will learn how to use a spoon and will, in less than 2 weeks time, be cutting up her own meat and veg in a manner more lady-like than the queen.

Or not….

[slideshow]

The post Why a baby is better than Laurence Llewelyn Bowen appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

The post Silent Sunday appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

The post Silent Sunday appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

It’s messy, time-consuming and, to be honest, a bit of a ball-ache. Life is far easier when they only consume milk.

That said, we’ve also had quite a bit of fun with the whole food thing so far. I enjoy finding ever more random combinations of ingredients to offer Frog, and find myself constantly taking photos of her covered in tasty morsels of said combinations.

Due to the stubborn independent nature of my child, we went down the baby-led weaning route. I know this isn’t for everyone. Whatever. It worked for us, for many reasons.

I’m over at Childcare Is Fun today, blabbing on about the whole thing. It may be worth a look if you’re starting to think about weaning your baby, or want to see photographic evidence of the afore mentioned mess. Once again, the photos are taken by Caroline Gue. She’s good like that.

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