My Littlest Girl - A Different Kettle of Fish

From the moment that my second girl was pulled from my wife’s uterus, kicking and screaming in a way that reminded me of the drugged up fools getting arrested on programs like Road Wars, she slipped seamlessly into our lives. Seamlessly in a way that caused havoc from the very first night, or so I was told anyway. The Mrs relayed to me, as I visited her the following day, how she’d kept her up (and more than likely the other new mum’s in the ward); performing her finest opera rendition throughout the night. It was a sign of things to come as, not considerate of our sleep needs in the slightest, she was unrelenting in her insistence that she wasn’t snoozing at night; at least not on her own. We’d take shifts each night to allow her to settle on our chest as the other grabbed some shut eye, all as we prayed that her sister wouldn’t wake up (more on this in a later piece).

The above became all the more infuriating as she had no issue napping in her Moses basket, rarely budging but to be fed. She’s generally the calmest, most placid baby I’ve been around (not that I’ve had a great deal of experience in that regard!), but when she’s hungry, (and she’s hungry much more frequently than her sister was) or tired (ditto), you certainly know about it. To use a car metaphor, she goes from 0 to 100 in seconds when she feels the need for the white stuff, which tends to be every three hours during the day; on average. It can become a nightmare when we’re visiting friends or family with her, because doing it the old fashioned way only prolongs the waling (we have a two-minute prep machine at home), while the fussy little bugger seldom accepts the ready-made formula if it hasn’t been warmed to take the edge off.

Then there’s the reflux. Oh, the reflux! The one thing you can almost guarantee with her is that once it goes in, inevitably some will find its way out. There’s been countless times that I’ve had to wipe a puddle off the mat or clean a stain from the couch, and I rarely walk around a shopping centre or park without a white mark on my shoulder. There’s much that can be seen to be unpredictable though, as tiredness doesn’t always mean sleep right away (although I’m aware some have it far worse; in fact, we did with our first). She seems to subconsciously decide whether she’s accepting her pram or cot for a slumber; as sometimes her eyes will fly open, sometimes she’ll be wriggling within minutes and others she’ll be a model for the saying ‘sleeps like a baby’; while her tendency to switch to her stomach in bed has left her mum panicking on more than one occasion. Several times she's been crying for what seems like no good reason, and we’ll go through a mental list before we find out what is likely wrong. Then there’s the nappy change! She’d shown an appetite for rolling over relatively early, and her attempts to do such really hamper our ability change her (we never quite mastered the 'over the knee' technique).

After the hectic nature of the first few weeks of our littlest girl, things have really begun to settle down. She’s become my 5am mate, which has a tendency to make me grumble, but only on the rare occasion that I want further sleep. Most of the time I like to get up early as it gives me the chance to apply for jobs, work on my novel or to write pieces like this. She’ll usually drop back off after her bottle too, which suits me down to the ground, and this will be the pattern throughout the day. Sleep, eat and roll on the mat are her primary responsibilities; leading me to the conclusion that it’s such a hard life being a baby. I look forward to watching her grow and develop in a way that I expect will be different to her sister. I believe that things will surely get harder, and I’ll find plenty to moan about, but for now all I can do is nit-pick to come up with content for my youngest.

By Calum Dewsbury