In praise of the second year

Having spent the period between 25th December and 25th January feeling as though I had left a load of GCSE coursework until the last minute and trying to get it all done in a rush, I now feel as though I have knocked a few essays on the head, perhaps plagiarised a few from the Internet and decided not to bother with the optional extra ones that get you the difference between an A and an A*.


The curse of the baby books had hit me hard and I felt as though Alice, and therefore I, was up against a lot of things that babies/toddlers "should" be doing at 12 months. To torture another analogy, in my head, the books had ceased to be encouraging mother cheering at the sidelines of the school sports day and had turned into Competitive Dad from the Fast Show, demanding that Alice get on and perform all her new tricks (stand up, forget bottles, cut down on milk, eat same food as us etc) by midnight on 24th January, or at least to do one thing before the other babies so that we would win, win, win.... but what, what, what? It's not like there is much of a prize to be had.


However, now that she is one; although she may not be walking or expounding great soliloquies on baby rights, lots of other things have become much easier. No more sterilising, making formula or boiling and cooling water. We have almost ditched the bottles altogether in favour of sippy cups, just using a bottle last thing at night but will work on that soon. She can have almost any food (even the threat of the 16th century sounding botulism from honey has abated) and she sometimes makes life easier by eating our leftovers from the night before so that I don't need to make special baby stuff or puree everything* (and sometimes not, but then the cursed books do now define her as a toddler, so things are never going to be 100% as I would have them. More like 100% how she would have them). While she is smothered in Factor 50+ sunscreen every day, I no longer feel as though she will turn into a puddle, a la the Wicked Witch of the West, if she is exposed to direct sunlight. She can tell me if she wants to be picked up by holding hands up and saying, "Up". She says "Yes" in answer to most questions, which I phrase to suit my needs, "Do you want a nap?", "Have you finished sucking your rice cake to a pulp?". What else?! Oh yes, apparently she is learning to wash her own hands at daycare. Not seen any evidence of this at home yet, so hopefully they will keep practising.

She is using her own spoon for things that will stay on it as she perilously holds it at a vertical angle and will take sips of water from a glass or a water bottle, which is really handy if we are out and about.

With all that, we save lots of time on faffing about. I'm not quite sure where that time now goes (possibly on work, entertaining grandparents, worrying about jobs and for the last two nights, trying to get her to sleep) but getting her organised is definitely easier. That said, the good old days of Alice sitting quietly in coffee shops rather than trying to crawl out of the door and one-time (not at band camp) smack bang into Andrew O'Keefe, are sadly missed. I'd gladly blend a few carrots and sterilise some teats to have a taste of those good old days back.

*This week I started making the grown-ups food from the Fussy Eater book - it seemed easier for us all to eat her food than for her to eat ours. The Shepherds pie went down a treat with the northerners and none of them seemed to notice all the hidden vegetables. Shhhhh.....