Alice and Marley do lunch

It was the end of the Gymberoo term today, so Alice and her little friend Marley decided to treat themselves to lunch at the Bondi Tratt. Born only 3 days apart, Alice and Marley slept side by side on Marley's first night in the world when their mothers shipped them off to the hospital nursery. (Marley's doting Mum had just been through a long labour. I was more calculatingly trying to stock up on zzzzs before taking Alice home the next day) . Marley is one of Alice's best chums and is frightfully glamourous, having declined a previous potential lunch date so as to be in a photoshoot for a magazine. Indeed, she'll be in the media twice in upcoming weeks. Poor old Alice must make do with her Facebook albums and her ability to screech at high volumes, in her bid for fame and notoriety.

The younger girls napped idly while the older girls ate pasta, before Alice reminded Marley that it was lunchtime. And a kindly waiter, who has surely missed a calling, managed a photo where we were all looking at the camera.

Borderline Trailer Trash

"My day was a dichotomy", I remarked to Stuart last night, "A cross between Aussie battler and Yummy Mummy Eastern Suburbs behaviour".

"Alice and I wore our tracksuits all day [Aussie battlers], but we only did that because we were doing a baby first aid course [Yummy Mummy Eastern Suburbs] and we had to be on the floor as practice models to be put into the recovery position. We then drove to Target for nappies [Aussie battler] in our large, black 4 x 4 [YMES] and then popped to the Norton Street Grocer to buy celeriac [off the scale YMES]. Got the car washed at Westfield [YMES] and then filled up on petrol on Cheap-a*&e Tuesday [Aussie battler]. Came home and washed Alice's playmat free of snot from the other babies at the first aid course (they were battlers) and then fretted about what to make for lunch next week for dairy and soy intolerant mothers group friends (YMES). Gave up and made and ate muffins from a packet mix (Aussie fattler)"

Tucking into his fish fingers and baked beans with baby sick down his shirt, he muttered thoughtfully, "Borderline trailer trash" and switched over from "A Current Affair" to SBS news.

Escape from Cold-itz

There's almost nothing so pitiful as a hungry baby who can't feed because her little nose is stuffed up. Or perhaps the sight of a mother/father asleep with their head resting on the side of the cot also qualifies.

I think that we are now past the worst of Alice's first cold, but it's been a fairly tumultuous week. Without wanting to make a fuss, because - let's face it - children get sick; I am going to make a fuss. I am from a long line of cold-haters. We're not good at them and we retreat to bed to suffer or put ourselves behind closed doors to avoid them. Two nights of being up every 20-40 minutes all night long is worth making a fuss about.

In the end, I have been saved by Euro 2008. The European evening game shows at 4.30am here and so good old Stu has been literally leaping out of bed to help with the early morning shift. Demonstrating a sudden interest in such games as Netherlands v Romania (no idea why they weren't showing France v Italy), he volunteers to "prop her up while she sleeps so that she can breathe". For about 90 minutes, plus halftime. (Then he usually decides that "She needs feeding"). And Alice fares better while he sits on the sofa than in her room, apparently, illuminated by only the orange shirts of the Dutch supporters.

In the Gwyneth Paltrow section of this post, I would like to thank Mr and Mrs D T Yardley for raising a son who is also prepared to get up for one entire night so that I could have a good rest (since I'm getting the dreaded lurgy too). He slept on a mattress by her bed and comforted her when she woke. It was fairly comical, as he had the baby on one side (about 1 metre from his head) and the baby monitor on the other side (about 50cm from his head) so that he would definitely hear her. Either in a contrary or helpful mood, Alice only woke up 3 times that night, so his suffering wasn't too great. Last night she and I were only up frequently between 3 and 4.45am (when I helpfully woke Stu for Russia v Sweden (I knew he would be dying to see that one), so I think that we are now over the worst of it. She's also managed to sleep back in her cot again for most of the last two day sleeps, whereas before, she had to be held, so fingers crossed. We had just got into a nice routine of bed at 7 - 7.30pm, with 3 sleeps and 5 feeds, but I am advised to give her extra feeds so that she gets enough fluids, so we are back to 4 sleeps and 6 feeds until we get back on track.

We've spent the week in voluntary quarantine, avoiding other babies and speaking really only to chemists, who all just tried to sell me nasal aspirators. I remember getting treats when I was young and sickly, so took Alice to get her new car seat fitted. I had to walk around the block to resist buying anything in the baby shop where the fitters is situated (I really am a compulsive baby shopper). It really is the business (the car seat, not the block I walked around) - a beautifully plush seat that exceeds all safety standards and for no extra charge, comes with ipod speakers. So I will spend a happy hour or so choosing music for Alice and many happy hours not listening to Baby Einstein lullabies and instead tuning into radio celebrities and TV Z listers who I know a tiny bit about through a tenuous connection through a friend and to whom I feel some curious allegiance.

Have also thought of something more pitiful. Alice's screams while I use the nasal aspirator on her. Will be pleased to get to "summer" in England. Only 5 weeks to go!

A tribute to Great Auntie Oonagh

I would have loved Alice to have met her Great Aunt Oonagh and am so sorry that didn't happen. Great Auntie Oonagh really was a great auntie and I have very happy memories of her kindness.

Unable to get back for the funeral service, Alice and I tried to go to light a candle at the cathedral, but it was still being jazzed up for the Pope's visit in July and the local catholic church was locked, so we watched the sun go down from the end of the road and said a little prayer.


Favourite Auntie Oonagh memories:
1. She opened her Brightlingsea house to my church youth group for a weekend away, back in the day. Not that there was much likelihood of drunken disorderliness, but it was kind of her to take the risk.
2. At age 7, it was very important to me that my Great Aunt Rose stop giving me liquorice allsorts and start giving me confectionery that I liked. Auntie Oonagh's famous tact and advice was called for, received, acted upon and I became the happy recipient of Dairy Milk. Funnily enough, I love liquorice now (although I may not be spelling it correctly) but I was very grateful at the time. The advice was that we tell Auntie Rose that I had over-indulged in the allsort, to the extend that they made me feel "quite ill". It worked a treat.
3. Her humouring my 9 year old self whistling the tune to the Lambeth Walk after a trip to see "Me and My Girl" all the way along the 18 or so stops along the District line to Upminster. "Listen, I can whistle while I'm breathing in, as well".
4. My own parents stopped speaking to me at two parties at Parkstone Avenue, when I told a certain couple that their engagement present had originally been a 21st birthday present gift for someone else and on another occasion thanked Auntie Catherine for her Christmas gift with the words. "I've got one of those already". Auntie Oonagh was still very sweet and smuggled some cake to my corners of shame. She didn't manage to backhand me any tact, unfortunately. I bet my Mum and Dad wished they had left me with the aforementioned babysitter.

Reading that again, it sounds as though it is all about me, but for Auntie Oonagh, it always all about someone else.

Alice has just grown into her very posh babygro, bib and matching blanket which Auntie Oonagh sent over. See photo below. Spot the baby!

RIP, with lots and lots of love.

Titbits from around the Eastern Suburbs

It's been a good week for Alice. She moved into her "big girl" cot last weekend with minimum drama (ie no drama at all for her; only angst for me) and has been sleeping beautifully. She looks so tiny in there, but is obviously very comfortable, since I've had to wake her at 8am most mornings this week.

We went to Gymberoo as usual today and as promised some weeks back, here is a picture of Alice enjoying the swing.

We've also completed a baby massage course and are having fun with our new found techniques. Alice really loves it and even in her most tired and grump moments is cheered by an Indian head massage. Today we did the full body (Aunty Helene called halfway through and asked if I was able to do her too, but unfortunately I am only able to soothe grumpy babies, not to alleviate the "I've decided to move back to the UK and I'm scared I'll miss the sunshine" worries that Helene was suffering from, so was unable to oblige). Anyway, here is a contented Alice relaxing after her massage.

I think your baby's just been sick

Took Alice to hear the Nigella of the baby world this morning at Babies Galore. We sat near the front because I'm a swot and Alice stared with wrapt amazement at the pretty lady speaking into a microphone (think she's going to be a swot too). Her adorableness prompted admiration from the crowd and from Annabel Karmel herself. As I bathed in smugness and listened to how to introduce fish to your baby's diet almost as soon as they start solids, the lady next to me tapped me on the shoulder and timidly pointed out that, "I think your baby's just been sick". Alice had a chin covered in vom, it was all down my leg (the one day I choose black trousers over jeans) and there was a huge puddle on the floor. I guess the last minute of "admiration from the crowd" had actually been ridicule and pity from about ten other mothers.

Needless to say we had to exit stage left without getting our baby puree recipe book signed.

Too grown up for words

Thought I would just lament the pressure of reading school prospectuses for the purpose of deciding upon a Senior School for a four month old baby.

- Stop that sniggering at the back, Walder.
- No giggling, Yardley-Partingtons of Wythall and Edwards of Manly.
- No, it is not just me being obsessive, Lobambola. Sit up straight!

I called our first choice school just now with a question about the application form and discovered that the entry class of the year 2020 is actually full already, but Alice is welcome to become pupil 55 on the waiting list.

It's a very cunning scheme over here. There's one great state school, but it's highly selective, so although Alice is obviously going to be terribly clever, it really is a little early to put all our eggs in that basket. There are lots of great private schools (or public schools, as our UK readers would confusingly call them) and by some quirk of the system, these also get lots of money from the government. So they really are simply rolling in it and really offer the best educations. However, which education will suit someone who is currently dribbling and unable to stay awake for longer than 90 minutes really puzzles me.

So, don't tell Stu, but I'm going to put her name down for all the good Anglican or non-denominational schools and then will be able to choose later. You might think that Stu would agree with this approach, except that there is a non-refunfable application fee charged for the privilege at each school. And a non-refundable enrolment fee if they offer a place. And a "voluntary" donation to the building fund which all prospective and eager parents are bound to consent to. And an invitation to their next fete where I can enter the blind auction to win a yacht kindly donated by Mr Blah Blah, parent of Arabella Haughtington-Smythe of Year 8. What a scam.

If any registrars are reading this - excellent idea. Really fun.

PS, since writing this, have discovered that most of my mothers' groups' mothers signed their daughters up ages ago. Have also gained sign-off from Stu to put her down for up to 5 schools, so you can breathe a sigh of relief and let the cat out of the bag, blog-fans.

Indiana Jones and the sleeping babies

Alice and her friend Sophie had a trip to the movies yesterday. We carefully selected a 10.15am showing and set off with no little trepidation. They do organise special "Mums and Bubs" performances, but following a very complicated e-mail trail with some friends and their babies, we had decided to go to a "normal" showing. The theory was that if any babies were crying, they would be our own and therefore embarrassing rather than irritating. Banking on very few old people and skiving children being there on a wet Sydney Monday morning, we sat right at the front so that we were as far from the other 6 cinema goers as possible.

It really is amazing how Alice can startle if I simply start a new sentence while talking to her or if a new person comes into the room but that she was perfectly relaxed during this very noisy film. In fact, she was bored in the quiet scenes and decided to create her own entertainment by chatting. At the top of her voice. The screen was - of course - huge from the front row and she spent most of the time looking from side to side on her swivel neck and then conked out after 45 minutes and slept for the rest of the film. It's good to know we can do that again, although I'm going to see SATC without her, since I did keep missing bits of the story while I found toys, fed her and was rocking her to sleep. Still, a great way to spend a rainy morning and cheered me considerably since the day had started with no less than 3 different outfits as she performed her repertoire of bodily functions on each set of clothes. The irony was that I got wet in the rain when we left the cinema and had to be changed as well.

Obviously there are no photos of the cinema, but here are some from the last couple of days for the non-Facebook crew: