When is a holiday not a holiday?

We have just come back from a lovely holiday in Tuscany. My big sis won a week in a farmhouse near Pisa and invited us all to go along.

The farmhouse was lovely. It had panoramic views, olive groves, orange trees and a big log fire. We had some lovey day trips, ice cream and nice wine. All in all, it was a good break. Charlie was great on the plane and it was lovely for my sis and her hubby to spend time with him. And us, for that matter.

I must say, however, that I don't feel very rested. We still have to wash and sterilise all the bottles, wash clothes, change nappies, wake up at 3am and then 5:30am and not go back to sleep. This is all made more difficult by not having the correct equipment to hand. Is it worth going away just to do the same old stuff? I think in these credit crunching times, our next holiday will be spent at home and going on day trips. At least until Charlie can sleep until 8am and use a cup! Hmmm, maybe when he's a teenager???

No Smiles? Call the Doctor!

Charlie is usually a very happy baby. He chats to toys, says "da" and "ta" a lot and often smiles. A smile and giggle can usually be coaxed from him with a little chin tickle. His grandparents and family are used to seeing this from him.

He is, however, a little person. He gets tired. He gets hungry. And boy, is he teething? This was a recipe for a miserable little baby on Saturday, as teething meant he had no sleep on Friday night and not much of an appetite. So when his grandparents came to look after him for a few hours, he wasn't himself. He didn't have a temperature, no rash, no cough, no cold. Charlie was just tired and grumpy.

The grandparents decided we should call the doctor. He wasn't smiling on demand for them and was certainly not giggling. We decided not to call the doctor. He is still grumpy from the teething but was a different baby after a good night's sleep on Sunday. This was met with some indignation.

Is this a generational thing? We are all protective of our children; they are the most precious things we will ever have in our lives. But is it too easy to take little darling to the doctor at the first signs of grumpiness? Or should we have gone just in case? Should the grand-ps have kept their opinions to themselves or is our generation too quick to dismiss advice?

Have I Missed Anything?

I am sorry - it has been an awfully long time in Blogworld since I last wrote. After bragging that everything was going smoothly, the wheels had to come off.

We have had eye infections, coughs so bad they made Charlie vomit, visits to the walk-in centre, teething, poorly mum, poorly dad....

I am afraid that I had to make some tough decisions. It was having a wash or writing a blog and I have to sit next to real people at work. Anyway, I have gathered some thoughts and hopefully some brain cells and off I go...

It was all going so well....

Did everyone have a nice weekend? I was having quite a nice time, until I had to spend a few hours with my new friends on Sunday night / Monday morning. I know, jealous aren't you? You're thinking, she's got amazing stamina to be up at that time enjoying herself. New friends? I just about manage to put new clothes on everyday. Well, you be won't be jealous after a few paragraphs.

George and I had a lovely day on Saturday. He had an OU tutorial in Manchester in the morning. I met him with Charlie and we had a lovely leisurely lunch in Oklahoma. We made a delicious tea. I made the starter and dessert, he made the main. Yum. Then we got into bed and zonked out at about 9:30. Yep, romance isn't dead in our house!

We didn't go too mad on Sunday. A bit of housework, a walk with Charlie and the dog, enjoyed a bit of tennis on the telly. Ready for the week to come.

At 1am I was woken by an excruciating pain in just under my ribcage. It was like a large elastic band around my middle, I couldn't catch my breath. It was hard to keep still. I was making strange noises. I had gone as white as a sheet and was clammy. George was worried enough to call the ambulance. So at 1:20am the dog barked as three ambulance men trooped upstairs to see what was wrong with this hysterical woman, who wished she'd taken her eye make-up off.

I was whisked off to A&E with low blood sugar, panda eyes and trainers with no socks and mis-matched pyjamas. A valentines' treat.

After the four and a half hour wait and a couple of co-codamol the pain had subsided. The doctor decided that it was probably heartburn and sent me home. Heartburn? It was worse, and I am not exaggerating, than childbirth. I swore. I did not swear during the birth. I was clammy. I did not, and I am not showing off, break into a sweat during childbirth.

Feeling suitably pathetic I called George and he came to pick me up. But I hadn't finished. I was sick on the way home. Lovely.

7:00am and I was back in bed. Feeling poorly, guilty for missing work and sad because it is half-term and it's not even Philip and Fearne this week.

And I haven't even mentioned my friends. There was Steven. A charming man who had been "duffed up in town." He had a bust lip, crazy head bandages and had had to pop his nose back in. He told me I looked 25 (must have been the smoky eye make-up). Then there was Mr. B. He was old but an expert in matters of A&E. He had a box of cereal with him (just in case) and correctly predicted that I wouldn't see anyone for five hours, nor would I be provided with refreshments. He also had £250 in cash in his pockets. Unfortunately, in notes not pound coins so useless for the vending machines.

What I couldn't work out, as I lay in bed trying to catch up on the missed sleep, was how I was going to tell my new employer that I had called an ambulance out for indigestion!

Working Mum

So, two weeks ago I took the plunge and went back to work. And I have got big news - it wasn't that bad!

It was with some trepidation that we dropped Charlie off on that first day. He was a little bit whingey, but nothing unusual. I was worried that I would feel bad, guilty, irresponsible and would cry. But, actually I was okay. I feel more guilty for not feeling bad - when I got in the car, it felt like I was getting back to normality. Facing my own challenges, instead of being Charlie's mum.

I won't bore you with the details of the office. I save that for George. Needless to say, small baby things which used to be important were quickly replaced with hugely vital worries such as where they keep the staples and how long can I spend in the shops at lunchtime. I got stuck in and I didn't have much time to ponder what he was getting up to without me.

When we got back to nursery, Charlie had been "okay." This didn't exactly fill me with confidence... He hadn't had much milk, didn't want much food. I was going to have to quit work so my baby doesn't starve!

We needn't have worried. By day three he was into the swing of things and was making as many people feel as miserable as he could. He cried when we dropped him off in the morning, and then cried when he had to leave. He was eating and drinking fine, and was even drinking water. We couldn't get him on that stuff!

It has been difficult cramming things in now... (the blog rate, you may have noticed, has dropped off a cliff) but we are managing. I really enjoy the time I have with Charlie, and appreciate having some time on my own.

That said, I'm glad it's the weekend!

Last Day Together

Friday was my last day with Charlie before going back to work. On Monday I would be packing his little rucksack and taking him to nursery. I have not really felt guilty about our decision, but I did feel sad that I would be missing his company over the weeks and months to come.

I was trying to think of something fun to do; maybe feed the ducks, go to an aquarium, go on the swings. In the end, I was desperately tired on Friday morning. A week of preparations, worries and sewing little labels on little clothes had taken its toll. It wasn't just me. Charlie was grumpy after breakfast. So we did the only sensible thing and got into bed.

It was lovely. We dozed for two hours. His little arm was tucked under mine and we were warm and snuggly, protected against the winter chill. I remembered back to the time when we first brought him home. George would bring me breakfast in bed and, after we'd both had some food, Charlie and I would snooze for a while. I couldn't believe I was lucky enough to have this perfect little person and that I was a mum. I can't quite believe that was only six months ago. A lot has changed, but I feel luckier each day and I love getting to know him more and more as he grows.

When he woke up, he gave me a sleepy smile and a bit of baby chat. What a perfect way to spend our last day together.

Breast or bottle: is it really our choice?

I chose to breastfeed my baby. I was satisfied that it was "the right thing" and that "breast is best." At first it was tiring, difficult and lonely. Although my partner was really supportive, there wasn't much he could do other than bring me biscuits and coffee. I felt that all the responsibility was on me to keep Charlie going. What if my boobs broke? What if I got sick? What if he didn't like the second hand taste of jaffa cakes and decaff?

We soon got the knack of it. It was still tiring, but when we got it right it became relaxing and comforting. I use to enjoy having Charlie weighed because I had provided the sustenance to get him there. It became easy and convenient. As long as we had nappies and muslin squares, we could go anywhere.

I have since weaned him onto follow-on milk for nursery, and I cannot believe what a pain in the backside it is. I am so confused as to why new mums would actually choose to have to measure milk, wash and sterilise bottles, boil water and remember to take half the kitchen with them every time they leave the house. In some ways, they are more heroic than breastfeeders.

It is not for me to criticise alternative parenting choices (except maybe the mother of the smoking three year old), but what I would like to criticise is society's general attitude to breastfeeding. Facebook recently came under fire for banning beastfeeding pictures. Cue the debate about breastfeeding being "the most natural thing in the world" versus "it's private and mums should only feed at home." I am finding it hard to write coherently about this issue because it makes me so annoyed. This should not even warrant a discussion. It is impossible for impressionable parents to make an informed decision when breastfeeding is likened to urinating in public or vomiting (see comments).

I live in Merseyside and did not see one other mother breastfeeding in my local cafe, despite them displaying a "Breastfeeding Welcome" sign. Some breastfeeding mums at baby group will not leave the house for more than two or three hours at a time in case baby needed to feed. Indeed, the northwest has the second lowest initial breastfeeding rates in the country. Is it any wonder that mums give up so easily, or don't even try?

A lot of this, I believe, has to do with the culture of celebrity and lads mags. Breasts have more to do with sex and less to do with babies. Girls in Liverpool can't breastfeed and look like footballers' wives in town on a Friday and Saturday night, so they make their choice accordingly. Breasts are gorgeous, ladies, but they are functional as well.

I do not know the answer to this, but until mums are given the collective confidence to feed in public without feeling ashamed and embarrassed and have this accepted as the norm the situation is unlikely to change.

Picture: Topinambour