Bamboozled off the boob

Very little about parenthood has been as I expected, and my baby is a constant source of surprise to me. I didn't realise babies pooed quite so very much. I had no idea how useful that rocking cradle would be. I could never have imagined how precious the extra ten minutes sleep I buy each day by throwing a toy into the cot would be. And I totally underestimated the value of sock harnesses.

I was wrong about feeding too. I expected that I'd breastfeed exclusively for six months imagining it would be fairly straightforward once I got going. How naive. For something so natural it is surprisingly difficult. I'll spare you the details and just say I did not have an easy ride. Still, I persevered.

But from the day Lady P started turning her nose up at my lacklustre 6pm offering, and we gave her a bottle of that strange and mysterious substance called formula, we were on a path. That path lead, far more rapidly than I would have expected, to her living on formula. Unless you count the tiny breastfeed I give her for breakfast, a sort of token gesture to my former, idealistic self.

What's more, we've weaned her early too. At the point at which she was off the scale of milk consumption for babies her age, we figured she may need a little more to eat. But I had read enough about weaning to be prepared for a few failures at first.

'She might not like it,' I told TLOML. 'And her tongue might instinctively push the food out of her mouth. Even if she doesn't do that, she'll probably just move it around her mouth and spit it out. We'll be lucky if she swallows any.'

'Stop taking my photo and put the damn food in my mouth'

Again, how wrong I was. She wolfed it down, with comic enthusiasm. Couldn't get that rice in her fast enough. A couple of weeks into the weaning programme and she is now grabbing at the spoon, taking down significant amounts of carrot, parsnip and rice, and as happy as a clam. To assuage my discomfort about how early this is all happening, I'm assiduously steaming and pureeing organic vegetables. So I suppose at least she's moving onto less processed food than her all-Aptamil diet.

Personally I feel a bit cheated out of my amazing, bonding, healthgiving and life affirming six months of exclusive breastfeeding. In theory, I'm in charge of this process. I made the choices that have lead us here: a formula fed baby who's weaned at 20 weeks. And yet, I see the hand of Lady P behind all of this. She has bamboozled me into it, I swear.

Given how much TLOML and I love our food, I suppose none of this should be so surprising. She'll be on steak and sushi before long I'll warrant.

One year of smug marriedness, many more to come

I'm rushing to post this so TLOML, Lady P and I can go and loll about in country hotel splendour. We're celebrating our first wedding anniversary with a night at the lovely Feversham Arms, including a tasting menu dinner in their excellent restaurant. The room is apparently close enough to the restaurant to be monitorable and rush-back-able, so we can bring Lady P with us. Which is nice seeing as she was, in a foetal way, at our wedding.

TLOML, me and Lady P on our wedding day

It's hard to believe it's only a year. And I don't mean that in a bad way, as in, it feels like forever. It's just that we've packed a heck of a lot in. According to the Holmes & Rahe stress scale, some of the most stressful life events include getting married, pregnancy and a 'change in living conditions', 'change of residence' and 'change of social activities'. We ticked all those boxes in our first year. And yet we couldn't be happier.

...and one year later

It bodes well for the next fifty years, I'd say.

My goodness this is a smug post. What can I tell ya? He really is The Love of My Life. Happy anniversary, TLOML.

Independence Day 2013

Belated Happy Fourth!

We decided not to let the fact we live in breezy North Yorkshire deter us from celebrating America's national day.

I made my personal tribute to freedom and independence by abandoning Lady P to the care of her father for the morning, so I could go to get my hair done. As a side note I put this in our collective diary as 'Artemis Yarm' (the name of the salon, and the town it is in). TLOML, not really knowing what it meant, thinks it would be an excellent name for our next child. No comment.

A thoughtful Lady P considers what Independence Day means

Anyway, in the evening we roped in some willing Saltburnsiders to celebrate all things American with us. Because my first couple of July 4ths were spent in California, I think this means margaritas, chips, salsa and guacamole. TLOML has pointed out to me that this is not a Mexican holiday. So to bring things back north of the Rio Grande TLOML made outstanding burgers and I baked a cherry pie. Another side note: never make a cherry pie in a town where cherry pie filling is not available. Stoning a pound and a half of cherries is no joke.

Forty minutes and about 25% of the way through the great cherry stoning of 2013

The weather was, unusually and fittingly, glorious. So much so that we were able to eat outside - a first for us in Saltburn and something which boosted our holiday spirits considerably. Plus made the little sparklers TLOML had bought rather safer to use.

Margaritas, sunshine, burgers and tiny fireworks - short of actually being the US I think we were about as American as we could be on July 4th.

Date night differences

Given my moaning about the Saltburn restaurant scene, what do TLOML and I do with all that freedom we bought ourselves?

Last weekend we drove to Whitby, 25 minutes away, for the kind of seafood we can't find in Saltburn. Whitby is a true fishing town, and a tourist destination too, with dozens of seafood places to prove it. We went to Greens, one of the better known restaurants. I will admit to being a bit disappointed that the menu was so heavy on predictable seafood staples: fish and chips, fish pie, crispy squid and of course, moules mariniere. But that's a bit churlish - like complaining that all you can get in Newport, ME, is clam chowder and cherry stones and oysters on the half shell. These seafaring, touristy towns know their audience and they cook the kind of food people travel there to eat.

A two-a-penny menu (but the food IS good)

We had a lovely dinner, started with a cocktail - I even wore a smear of lipstick, so you know it was a big night out. And enjoyed some excellent seafood. Squid, oysters, mariniere and turbot, since you ask.

Since dates outside of our house are still relatively rare, I'd like to say we rediscovered the art of flirting and romance, and talked like we haven't talked in months.

Instead we discussed the same topics that we chew over continuously, endlessly. There are two:
1. Transatlantica - we're always on about the differences between the US and the UK. Especially as the possibility of moving back is always out there.
2. Lady P - if we're not holding her, gazing at her or talking to her, we like to be looking at pictures of her and talking about her.

You'd think we'd get bored, wouldn't you? But there's always something new to say.

For example, on transatlantic differences. This usually involves TLOML pointing out how much more slick service is in the US - and me pointing out something thoughtful and brilliant about Britain. Green's offered me this brilliant piece of evidence.

 A small but functional finger bowl

In the US even if you order a messy lobster, in a posh restaurant, you are given poxy little lemon scented wipes. In all the many fine seafood restaurants (not to mention the not so fine) I ate in I never saw a finger bowl. They're missing a trick.

We also often cover the old 'everything in the UK is so small', as regular readers will know. Imagine my delight on finding a shellfish that proves this wrong!

One of the biggest oysters I've ever seen. Kumamoto this aint.

On Lady P, by contrast we had nothing new to say. She's still pretty amazing but I won't bore you with the details.

They say date nights are never the same again after a baby. I'd say ours bear a reassuringly strong resemblance to all the other date nights over the years.

Freedom!

Before Lady P came along TLOML and I talked a lot about how important it was for us still to go out for dinner together, and to enjoy time together as a couple. We had heard on the grapevine - from a couple of embittered parents - that having a baby completely destroys your social life. We made a pact, to make sure that would not be true for us.

From early on, Lady P obliged by being pretty good at sleeping from bedtime at around 6pm, till 11pm or midnight or so. (We won't talk about her behaviour between midnight and 6am. It's just too painful to comtemplate). So we managed to retain our habit of cooking fairly elaborate dinners and enjoying them at a nice, expansive, relaxed pace - at least a few nights each week.

And Lady P's good behaviour meant we felt confident to ask, say, my sister, to babysit so we could eat out. But booking family is kind of cheating. It's also not a long term solution, for what happens when family aren't around? Plus I wanted to be able to leave her in the daytime, just once a week, so I could have a couple of baby-free hours.

It sounds odd, but essentially we were determined to palm Lady P off to a stranger as soon as we could stand it.

Please look after me! I'm no trouble, honest.

We had a very soft landing in the form of my sister's childminder. She's looked after my nephews since they were small, and lives just two streets away. Lady P and I bump into her all the time when we run our errands in Saltburn - or if I go to pick my nephews up once in a while. So she and Lady P were already on speaking terms. And she's a lovely woman, who loves babies and I think has taken a shine to our Lady P. Easy. Leaving Lady P with her for two hours hurt for about the first five minutes - but I haven't looked back since. Lady P has a fun two hours and I use my babyfree time to have a good workout, and a long shower during which I don't need to keep turning off the water to listen for her crying. Marvelous.

The babysitter was a tougher role to fill. But a friend of my sister's has a sitter she's used since her boys were small babies. She's young, but sensible. We booked her to look after Lady P on a Monday night while TLOML goes swimming and I go for a run and a yoga session. Thinking it would make sense for her to get to know Lady P just in case she needs to tend to her at night, I also booked her for an hour on a Friday - I go out for about 40 minutes for a run. Finally, we ask her to sit for us every couple of weeks so we can go out for dinner. The first time she did we were too scared to drive far, but now we're a bit bolder we actually go on some nice culinary adventures.

So yes, Lady P has bashed up the edges of our social life. And bored a hole right through the middle of it too. But still, a semblance of our former life remains. Strange though: fully 60% of the freedom we have bought is used for exercise. Either our priorities have changed, or we've really grown to prefer home cooking above anything else.