Boobs, Poo, & Meat. 

I’ve got the best Dragon’s Den idea! ‘Rent-a-Boob’. I’m not bothered about the money or the title of ‘inventor’, I just think it would be the best thing ever right now. Mondays and Wednesdays are tough. I teach a few students music these nights, so it means Daddy’s left ‘holding the baby’. Brilliant! I leave them laughing, joking, playing ‘boo’, and generally being happy and laddish. Twenty minutes in, Theo becomes restless. He knows Daddy hasn’t prepared a bottle. Daddy’s feeling tense, because he too knows he hasn’t prepared a bottle. The grunting starts. The bottom lip comes out. Theo becomes rigid. Here comes the screaming; so bad it’s like he’s being murdered. He’s such a…man! We both know the only thing that will stop it is boob juice. So why can’t some sort of silicone substitution be invented that will trick breast fed babies into thinking Mama’s there, when in actual fact it’s Daddy with fake wabs? Entrepreneurs, take this seed from a busy, breast feeding Mum, and let it grow! 

In other news: poo. I’m pretty sure it’s something most parents talk about when their baby has gone to bed. It’s certainly up there with ‘we could both do with loosing weight’ (whilst testing out Lidl chocolate), or challenging each other to speak in as many different accents as we can (or is that just us?). Not our poo, of course (however since I’ve started taking iron tablets again, the topic of ‘constipation’ has been creeping into conversation), no, Theo’s poo. I took him to the doctors yesterday. He’s always been very regular, often at very inconvenient times (we won’t talk about Theo and Alex’s traumatic bath…), but since Monday we’d had nothing. By the time Friday comes I’m becoming increasingly worried, even recreating the ‘Shooting Stars” ‘Dove From Above’ call, renaming it ‘Poo From the Loo’. I’ve gone mad. So there I was at the doctors explaining Theo’s nappies have been like a ghost town, when Theo starts to cry. It’s his pre-poo cry. The little bugger! As soon as I walk out of the surgery the comical grunting begins. He knew I had no nappies. So there I am running round Colne centre buying Pampers, and changing him on the floor in the ladies toilets in Weatherspoons. It turns out breast fed babies only need to poo twice a week because the majority of the milk is absorbed, as opposed to formula milk that needs to be excreted. 

We’re going to attempt weaning in a fortnight. We’ve done it! We’ll have waited a whole six months before giving him solids. After going to baby groups and walking to others mums this seems to be a rarity. I’ve found other mums can’t wait to get their babies into eating real food. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with it, I’d just rather follow NHS guidelines. Plus we’ve got the added complication of deciding whether or not to bring Theo up a vegetarian like Daddy, or a meat pie lover like Mummy. Every time we discuss it we end up saying we’ll decide at a later date because we can’t be bothered arguing the same point over and over again. 

Boobs, poo, and meat; why is everything so complicated?