Baby Sleep Tactic #1001 - the one with 100% Strike Rate!

You learn a LOT of lessons on-the-job as a first time mother. You have to. It is an ironic fact of life that to gain a drivers license you need to pass a written and practical exam, demonstrate 100+ hours of driving practice with a responsible adult, keep a log book and all-but get a letter of recommendation from the queen.

But to get your credentials as a mother? You just need a working pudendal and a willing rooster.

Ok ok that's a bit crude... but you get my drift.

It is one of life's greatest tragedies that babies do not come with user manuals. Even a curling wand comes with a user manual, dammit! No, the moment your vernix-covered, puffy-faced, screaming piece of perfection arrives into this world you are on.your.own. 


But fear not, first-time mothers-to-be! I am here to impart my most precious piece of wisdom, until this moment guarded like a crown jewel. And it's about getting your newborn to sleep!

I've talked about sleep previously. Here, for example. But that was then. Way back-when. I've learnt a lot since then about newborns and the way they tick and what I am about to share with you may well transform your world! Well, maybe not quite that dramatic.

Ok, we all know the Eat-Activity-Sleep-You (EASY) adage, right? Except, I ignored this completely the first time around and fed Fern to sleep. If that didn't work I rocked, patted, stroked, bounced, sung, played music to or went for a drive in the car. I kept her with me constantly. And the consequence was a baby completely dependant on me for sleep. Im still paying the consequence!

This time around, I'm doing things a little differently. You might call me a radical. I:

- Feed my baby and
- give him a little activity (like cuddles or tummy time) and then
- put my baby into his bed when he starts yawning.

waaaay too simple. But it turns out it works! Who knew?! ... but here's the clincher. Most of the time, the above is pretty much all I need to do to encourage my little one to get some shut-eye between feeds in the daytime. He's a keeper, is my Elliott.

But on those occasions he is not so keen and I don't want to (or physically can't because Fern is literally tugging at my ankles or screaming for attention) go through my old adage of rocking etc as listed above, I have one other slightly unorthodox but oh-so-effective method for getting Elliott to sleep WITHOUT TEARS. I  ----

--- turn the Dyson on outside his bedroom.

ok ok, my vacuum may not have been emptied in 2 yrs...

Yes folks, it is sleep to the lullaby of the vacuum cleaner. And it has a 100% strike rate! It only takes 5 minutes - max - and Elliott is happily sound asleep without any intervention from me. I can't believe I didn't know about this sooner! Yes, you can buy a CD of white noise... but why would you when you have free 'white noise' right at your fingertips! And he LOVES it!

The only slight concern is my vision of packing Elliott off to boarding school at 16 with a suitcase... and the Dyson. But hey, I'll worry about that later!


What unorthodox methods have YOU used to great success to encourage sleep for your baby??

How do YOU throne your highness?

I think I might be one of the only mummies in my circle of friends who does NOT own the Ikea Antilop highchair. And admittedly, at the ridiculously scandalous price of $39.99 I am bemused as to why I didn't join the throng and get one too! Simple, practical and quasi-stylish, there's not a lot wrong with this highchair. Well.... there are a FEW things which turned me off, including:

- The fact that it's from Ikea. (need I explain?)... the tedious drive. The parking debauchery. The queues. The squealing children. Those hideous meatballs. The fact that even though you went for one $39.99 highchair you leave $995 poorer with a trolley full of plastic love-heart ice cube trays, 7 million square shaped photo frames, a rice paper lamp and the entire Expedit shelving range...

- My concern about the chair's sturdiness; it being plastic.

- The fact that it's from Ikea

Ok ok, my reasoning may seem a little lame. The truth is, I was seduced instore by the tantalising lure of a wooden designer chair I could tuck into the table. It promised to grow with my child and best of all... it came in a dazzling array of colours. That you could design and play with different options yourself online. Kind of like the Bugaboo pram, which I also was seduced into buying. But that's another story. Anyway, Naomi Watts had one, dammit! Before I checked the pricetag I assured myself it was the ONLY option and laid down my credit card. What was this said highchair, you ask? I'll tell you in a sec. But first, I can't resist sharing this highchair cover I found on Made It; if you have the Ikea chair, surely its a must-have!

Isn't that cute/ kitch?! Anyway, back to my chosen highchair.

It's this one: the Stokke Tripp Trapp.

Admittedly, my relationship with this highchair got off to a rocky start when I unpacked and went to set it up around the the 6-month mark for Ferns first rice cereal slop meal. At the hefty pricetag of $390 I kinda expected the chair to come equipped with everything I would need. Alas, the 'baby set' - the part that attaches across the front and the plastic chair backing was an added extra, setting me back another $80. grrr. The range of comfy cushions would no doubt make mealtimes extra plush... but that is ANOTHER $80 and poor Fern got a rolled up towel until she was big enough to fill the seat herself. Don't get me wrong; it is a good chair: it tucks beautifully into the kitchen table, is minimalist, easy to clean, sturdy and will no doubt grow with Fern over the coming years. Plus, mine is white and pink which makes me smiley and happy. But I have noticed a few sneaky ripoffs sneaking into the baby stores of late (even Aldi had one!) and no doubt you can now buy one almost identical for half the price. Never mind...

I'll leave you with this charming image of Fern in her Tripp Trapp, she was about 7 months old and sampling Lovely Lentils for the first time. Months later, I'm still scrubbing lentils off the floor..

What highchair do you use? Are you happy with it? Did you get seduced with looks over practicality?? Please share!

Multitasking

Photo from Flikr

As I ascended the 11 stairs from the garage into my home earlier today, I pondered the concept of 'multitasking'. Why the sudden mindless musing, you might well ask? 

This particular thought came as I hoisted not only myself, but also my nine month-old daughter, my purse, five litres of fabric softener (that's a whole 'nother story), a laundry hamper and a 320 bulk packet of baby wipes into the house, all with my car keys clenched between my teeth. Once I relieved myself of all of these items, except for poor Fern who had slid by this point down somewhere around my legs and was clutching on for dear life. I simultaneously changed her nappy, unpacked the groceries, folded the washing, filled the dishwasher, phoned a friend and sorted the mail,  all whilst mentally scrolling through my recipe roladex to decide what to make for dinner.

Multitasking.

Before baby, my idea of multitasking was straightening my hair whilst applying my lipstick. Driving the car whilst SMS'ing inserting a CD. Typing up an email whilst drinking a cup of tea. You know, that sort of thing.

Motherhood has changed my perception of multitasking, along with just about everything else I thought I knew. Motherhood takes the concept of multitasking to a whole new hemisphere, hell, a whole new stratosphere! 

What's YOUR recent experience of multitasking?

Motherhood and the inner domestique goddess...

Let me preface this article by stating that I have never exactly been renound for my culinary prowess. Last night, speaking to my friend Crawford about my new blog, he enquired as to whether I would be including cooking and recipes. "Cooking?" I enquired casually, as I frantically scrolled through my mental roladex for a time I had publicly channeled my inner Nigella... I came up blank. 

Forced to press my friend for elaboration, he paused a moment obviously searching his own memory and then brightened... "Well, what about those amazing salmon rissoles you came up with that time?"

Salmon rissoles.

I imagine sitting in a glass-enclosed office on the 20th floor overlooking Sydney harbour with the high-fluting execs of Murdoch Publishing,  pitching my idea for an international cooking bible. The signature dish? Salmon rissoles...

hmmm.

When I ventured onto maternity leave 7 months ago I had high aspirations. I romanticised about having a three-course dinner on the table when my husband came home from work; sending him off the next morning with leftovers lovingly wrapped in tinfoil; the smell of freshly baking scones permeating the neighbourhood like a seductive love-song. 

7 months on, I've scaled back a bit. Occasionally I boil some pasta at 8.30pm when the baby is finally asleep; if he's lucky my husband gets a tin of tuna and a dubiously spotty banana to take to work. More often than not, he buys takeaway.

Anyway. I have finally accepted that (a) I do not enjoy cooking and (b) even if I did, I am not very good at it. And (c) I am ok with that.

My daughter is now 7 months old and has begun watching our food-intake with a similar intensity to that of the family Labrador. Before I had her, (and in truth for the last 6 months) I dreaded the bit when she would start solids. Whipping out a breast is so much easier than whipping up a 3-cheese vegetable medley, non? But while I have no hesitation opening a in of Campbell's finest for my own dinner, I am bemused to discover I am somewhat loathe to offer the same to my daughter. 

In truth, I am getting a macabre, maternal satisfaction from the ice-cube trays incubating pint-sized portions inside my freezer. I've even bought a food-processor for God's sake! However, not entirely trusting my own capability for blending vegetables; I invested in Annabel Karmel's "New complete baby and toddler meal planner" . The book gave me the confidence to move beyond pureed apple -- to venture into the murky depths of MIXING STUFF UP. The look of wonder on my daughter's face as she swallows cauliflower, leek and carrot puree for the first time gives me a maternal glow and sense of satisfaction to make me believe, finally that perhaps I am a domestique goddess after all. 

I say 'domestique', because that's how I see myself, really. Doing the hard yards; taking one for the team; striving to get my little poppit over the line with the polka-dot jersey. Because I think that's the least I can do to give her the best start to life. So even though I despise cooking, I'll keep at it. Who knows? Maybe one day I'll teach her how to make my world-famous salmon rissoles...