Growing Up

About a month before he turned two, I was determined to get Little A sleeping through the night and weaned, if it was possible to do both at the same time. Up until that point, he still nursed to sleep every nap and nighttime and managed 2-3 feedings a night plus one upon waking up in the morning. It was starting to drive me crazy.

The first few nights of denying pre-sleep nursing meant plenty of crying and throwing himself about the bed until Little A collapsed with exhaustion. Within a fortnight though, the crying decreased to whining and then to just cuddling next to me until he fell asleep. Hooray! The nighttime and morning feedings continued, though, as did the naptime one unless we weren't home and he fell asleep in his stroller or car seat.

I then applied one of the techniques detailed in Elizabeth Pantley's No-Cry Sleep Solution, decreasing the length of nursing time with each nighttime feeding, and eventually just refusing to feed at all. At first, Little A would go from half-asleep to more awake and protest loudly, but within a week or so, he learned to put himself back to sleep because there was no boob to be had, and then, joy of joys, he simply started sleeping longer until he was making it through the night. Hooray!

Morning feedings were quickly eliminated by taking him out for breakfast before he could complain too much, but surprisingly, the naptime feedings were the last to go. Perhaps Little A wanted to hold on to this last bonding session as long as he could.

When we are at home, at naptime Little A comes up to me, takes my hand, leads me to the bed, lifts his arms up to be carried onto it (though he is perfectly capable of climbing up himself) and then pulls me down next to him. He cuddles into my side and makes sure I do not leave until he is well and truly asleep.

Even when he no longer nursed to sleep, I had to be there every time it was naptime, unless I was not home, in which case he fought off sleep as long as he could before giving in and sleeping in his stroller. Some days he simply refused to nap at all.

Last week, my growing boy managed to fall asleep twice on the bed for late naps without my being next to him. The au pair let him play quietly on the bed until his eyes shut from tiredness.

Today, I was sitting at the table reading while Little A finished his lunch when he just walked off down the corridor. A few minutes later, I peeked into his room but didn't see him playing there. When I looked into our room, where Big A was on the bed watching tv, I saw Little A at the foot of the bed, reclining. Big A waved me away and called me in two minutes later to show me our son sleeping quietly. Little A had climbed on the bed by himself, held on to his favourite dvd and lay down. He turned his head to look at his dad and then shut his eyes and was asleep instantly. He knew I was there ready for the regular naptime routine, but chose to grow up today and go to sleep without mum, on his own.

I looked down at my sleeping son, feeling a mixture of pride and sadness for the little person who once depended on me for nourishment and comfort and is now well and truly on the way to being all grown up.

Playschool

Last week, my 16 month old son started attending "structured play group," a prelude to preschool. Three mornings a week, we walk across the street and take the lift one floor up to a small room where up to half a dozen children about 2 years old are left in the care of three very competent teachers.

Nannies and parents wait outside the play area as classes are only an hour and a half long, and snack time takes place midway through, during which time they need to assist their respective charges.

Most of the children who attend these classes live in our condominium complex, as does the owner herself, who has a son just five months older than mine. Little A seems to be the youngest in the class, and it shows in the way he flings himself about with total abandon and doesn't sit still or follow along with the structured activities like the hello and goodbye songs and the prayer before meals.

My main goals in enrolling him in these classes are: 1) to get him used to interacting with other caregivers (and children, of course), 2) to expend his morning energy while hopefully learning new skills and honing others, and 3) to move forward in what is turning into a long and seemingly impossible weaning process.

So far, things seem to be going well. The first day, he was challenged by the new environment and enjoyed having other children around him. From time to time, he wanted me to come into the play area so that he could show me around, or just have me nearby as a comforting presence. Other nannies were in there too with their charges, and there was one boy who was 21 months old and absolutely refused to leave his father's side, nor have his father even stand up to make a telephone call.

Seeing this boy made me realize that Little A's separation anxiety issues were nowhere near as serious as I'd thought. My son runs into the play area willingly and only looks for me 10-15 minutes later. Once he gets his cuddle or has me near him for a minute or two, he busies himself with another activity and doesn't notice or mind my leaving the play area again.

The second day, we started attending the mid-morning "class" as it was more convenient for both his wake-up time and my morning routine. However, he was borderline sleepy this time, and as there were only 2 other kids (and therefore less distractions?) he insisted I stay in the play area most of the time and interacted with me more than his teachers. He tried to nurse a few times, but was didn't really complain when I prevented him from doing so.

This morning I only had to enter the play area once, for about two minutes. He took my hand and led me to the toys, and once distracted, I stepped out and let the teachers do their work. During snack time I sat behind instead of next to him, and only intervened to give him a drink of water. He still didn't follow instructions during the movement activities, but neither did he look for me again, nor try to nurse at all. At the end of the session, I had to pick him up and take him home or else he would have continued to play through the teachers' lunch hour.

Almost immediately after each morning session, he sleeps. For these three mornings, at least, partial weaning has been accomplished. Hooray! While I realize these "achievements" are only baby steps, they are a good start. There may be some backward slides, but on the whole there's nowhere else to go but forward.

Road Trip

Last week, we went on our first long road trip. While people in cold countries long for the tropics, those of us who live too near the equator flee to cooler climes on our holidays. Big A, Little A and I spent six days in Baguio City, the Philippines' so-called summer capital, up in the mountains where there are pine trees and fog.

Note how I call this a road trip as opposed to a vacation, as the latter connotes rest, relaxation and spending plenty of time doing next to nothing. The trip was a vacation - for my daily girl. She got a much-needed break from cooking and cleaning up after Little A's meals, and was able to give our little flat the through clean it badly needed. Big A was down to his last week off work (he had 3 weeks' holiday and spent about a week going to job interviews, a couple of days playing golf and the rest sitting at home in front of the tv and occasionally playing with his son) and was the designated driver on the 5 hour journey there and back. A new highway had recently opened and this cut down driving time by an hour, but also meant we missed out on the chance to eat at our favourite roadside restaurant.

I had my usual responsibility of looking after Little A, and without my daily girl had to do more cleaning up after him than usual. However, I did enjoy the change from home cooking, as the arrangement at the country club we stayed at was that the rooms were "free" provided every guest spent a certain amount per day in food and drink at the club's many dining establishments. 

As Little A is at the stage where he likes to feed himself, (i.e. - attempting to put food into his mouth with his hands and spilling much of it on himself, his chair and the floor) we had to order plenty of room service. My husband quickly established a routine (with the help of a few big tips) whereby the room service or housekeeping staff would wash Little A's food tray after each meal while I hosed him down and then cleaned up spilled food from the high chair and the floor. 

The cool mountain air and change from home cooking did wonders for my little boy's appetite, and he ate ravenously at each meal, to my delight. As I am on a weight gain plan, I ate ravenously too. Big A got to play some golf, but a storm midweek meant the course was closed for a couple of days, so he used the rest of his time to bond with his son, the highlight of our week. They ran around the grounds, built Lego towers and knocked them down and we visited a couple of our favourite places, including the butterfly garden where Big A asked me to marry him nearly 3 years ago.

All in all, it was a good trip. We discovered that Little A could tolerate a fairly long car journey provided he wasn't made to stay in his car seat the whole time, (he does so obediently in the city, strangely enough) which suggests that maybe a long plane ride in the future won't be so difficult to manage. 

Weaning-wise, though, we seem to be slipping back. Maybe it was the cold weather, but Little A mostly refused the cold milk in his sippy cup or bottle and preferred it warm from my body. He did, however, eat a lot of good food. So the first few weeks at home will be dedicated to re-weaning, though I have been reading lately that dairy isn't the best thing and as I am lactose intolerant, wonder if Little A might be better off with soy, rice or almond milk versus cow's. Must go and read more on that now.

A Pleasant Surprise

Little A and I got a parcel today. Once or twice a year, his godmother sends presents from Helsinki, usually in time for my birthday or his. What made today's parcel extra special was that it was delivered right to our door. Now this isn't unusual in other parts of the world, but in the Philippines, parcels accumulate at the village post office and recipients get a card telling them to come pick their stuff up. Upon arrival, you pay a "storage fee" because your parcel has been sitting underneath many others in a dusty room. The post office people then open it in front of you to be sure there isn't any contraband inside, then you can finally have it.

The 2008 birthday parcel was gorgeously boxed in a Marimekko container, and once I opened it, Little A's two bottles rolled out. He immediately picked them up and put them in his mouth. Also in the lovely box was a set of baby Moomin cutlery, and for me (and Big A) to enjoy, a black nightie set and two boxes of Fazer chocolate eggs! 

Another weird thing about the Philippines is that despite it being a predominantly Catholic country, chocolate companies don't sell Easter eggs during Lent. Having lived 5 years in the UK, I know how delicious Cadbury's Creme and Galaxy Truffle Eggs can be, and crave for them every year. Fazer eggs are one step above the rest. Made for Russian Czars in the early 20th century, these eggs use real eggshells and are filled with a delicious almond-nougat-chocolate filling. To have 8 of them in my refrigerator is a delight that cannot be explained in words. 

The bottles should come in handy once I finally bite the bullet and start sleeptime weaning. This should happen soon, but as Little A has just come down with a cold, we may have to wait until he's well again. At the rate we're going, it will be another month before he's fully weaned. Fingers crossed!

Mother's Milk and the Fifth Taste

Little A and I are now 2 weeks into the weaning process. I don't know how successful we've been, as those blasted websites make it sound so easy. "Replace a feeding with a bottle once every 3-4 days, and within 2 weeks your baby will be completely weaned." Or maybe it is easy for other parents and we are the exception?

The plan was to replace the afternoon feeding first, then the morning one, and save naptime and nighttime (pre-sleep) feedings for last. But the websites don't tell you what to do when your child has had less than a dozen bottles in his first year and so flat out refuses and just goes on milk strike. Formula was ruled out immediately because any attempt to get him to drink it resulted in instant vomiting. So I moved on to fresh cow's milk. I say "fresh", but I really mean pasteurized, boxed milk. He reluctantly accepts it, but only when heavily diluted with water, and in minuscule quantities. Pre-naptime he alternates between the breast and the cup (a plastic drinking glass, not a sippy,) spending a few seconds at a time with each.

It's not easy, and I have no idea how to address the boredom feeding that happens every time we get into the car, let alone the mid-nap and sleep feedings. But a part of me understands why Little A is so reluctant to give up his mother's milk. It is the best and most natural food for a baby, after all.

Much press have been given lately to the so-called fifth taste, umami. In addition to salty, sweet, sour and bitter, this new taste is what makes us crave for more. It addresses the palate's sense of "deliciousness."

Glutamate is said to be the main ingredient in creating umami, and surprise, surprise, one of the things found to contain a very high content of glutamate is breast milk. No wonder Little A is so loath to give it up, and no wonder cow's milk (which, when given too early in human babies can cause kidney damage due to its high sodium and potassium content!) is such a poor second.

Calves (and all bovine creatures, I presume) have 4 stomachs and a special digestive process to allow them to break down what they eat. Between birth and 8 weeks of age, when they are weaned, cow's milk develops the 4 stomach formation in a young calf. So how can a human baby stomach in its singular form cope with digesting cow's milk, and, for that matter, is it really the best thing to give toddlers from age one onwards? Certainly, it makes them sleep longer, but all of my reading says this is precisely because formula (cow's milk-based or otherwise) is more difficult to digest than breast milk.

I'm on the fence on this one. While Little A's increasing teeth make breastfeeding more uncomfortable, I do wonder if there is a better alternative to cow's milk out there. Maybe the pediatrician will know. When we see her next week, I will be sure to ask.

The Trials of Toddlerhood

Ever since he was born, Little A would wake up every 45 minutes to 1 hour during his naptimes to feed. I can't find any information on this on parenting websites. Everyone else's kids just seem to nap in one long stretch from birth. It's frustrating, because we're trying to wean and I have no idea what to do about these mid-nap feedings. A bottle would make the most sense, but I haven't been brave enough to try one yet. While feeding, he strokes my chest and makes sure it's really me there. Sigh. I know I should just bite the bullet and see what happens.

Toddlerhood seems like it will be much more challenging than babyhood, what with toilet training and weaning and disciplining and all the rest of it. I hope I can do a good enough job. Big A is just not around long enough, since he leaves for work before we are awake and often comes home at night when Little A is about to go to sleep. So the burden of responsibility will rest mainly on my shoulders. Already we're having temper tantrums when I pull him away from the swimming pool (he tries to jump in at every possible opportunity) but most of those don't last long, and he does seem to be learning. Now he walks along the pool and just puts his hands in, but still tries to get into the kiddie pool every chance he can get, as he knows that one is where he is allowed to bathe.

Luckily, my son doesn't seem to be a sulker, the way I was as a child. I would go off by myself and sulk for ages. Now though, my temper cools as quickly as it heats up. Little A may get angry with me for disciplining him, but when I put him down he still runs back into my arms, crying. Maybe he understands that stopping him from doing something doesn't mean I love him less, but that I love him more and don't want to see him hurt. At any rate, he doesn't seem to love me any less for it. Let's hope it stays that way.

The Meaning of Weaning

My baby is now a boy. Little A is one, a toddling, climbing dynamo of energy. A whole year, imagine that? Just 368 days ago I was on an operating table being cut open because after 11 hours of labor, the baby's heart rate indicated that the cord was wrapped around his neck (and over his shoulder, like a parachute harness). 

One year. In that year I got down to my lowest weight ever (87 lbs as of last weighing) without even trying (in fact I have been on a weight gain mission since Little A was 2 months old), learned to appreciate the stay-at-home lifestyle (it's exhausting when you're looking after a baby 24/7) and had one haircut. My wardrobe has consisted of five, yes, five, tops, which, given their nursing openings, can only be worn with a handful of bottoms. I have seriously fallen off the style wagon in the past year.

One year means weaning. I've breastfed my baby longer than most mothers I know, as the average length of time is 6 months. The thing is, most mothers I know have nannies, which means they usually pump their milk and go about their lives (shopping, haircuts, long lunches, travel) while nanny stays home and feeds baby from a bottle. No nanny means no time to spend long stretches attached to a milking machine, and taking your baby with you wherever you go, which, given the circumstances is just the supermarket every two weeks and to the parents or in laws' houses for weekend lunches. No nanny means direct feeding, as who would have the time to wash and sterilise all those bottles when baby is attached to you and knows the food source is right there anyway?

At 6 months, we attempted to get Little A to take a bottle so that at least when we were out in public, I wouldn't have to keep flashing my boobs to the world. He hated it at first, but perseverance meant he would reluctantly accept one, when he felt like it. His bottle of choice? Not the Dr. Browns wide-neck trio we got for a shower present, nor the Tommee Tippees that came free with our steriliser. Not the Nuk bottle that cost a fortune (and thankfully we only bought one of) - my little one liked the slim Marimekko bottle his godmother brought him from Finland as a Christmas present. 

The Finns are way ahead of the rest of the world when it comes to style. Not only do they have fabulous designers of all sorts - architecture, interiors, graphics and fashion - they seem to be more earth-conscious than the rest of us. The bottle not only had lovely Unikko flowers on it, its teat was of a different shape than any other one I'd seen. It was flattish, not round, with an arrow to show which side was the top, as the human mouth is not evenly shaped but has a top bite that goes over the lower one. This teat was as brilliantly designed as anything else that was Finnish. It fit the human mouth perfectly. No wonder Little A thought the others were inferior.

When he had to drink from a bottle, Little A preferred this one. But having only one of these, and a small sized one at that, I had to write his godmother and ask if she could please send over a couple more for his birthday. 

Unlike other babies who wean simply from breastmilk to cow's milk or formula, Little A has the double whammy of having to accept a bottle or a cup AND a different type of milk at the same time. I don't expect it to be easy, and heaved a sigh of relief upon finding out that my parents timed their annual European trip perfectly, leaving two days after his birthday and staying away an entire month. Not only can Little A's godmother send more bottles to London if need be, rather than all the way to Manila, we will have less distractions in the form of grandparents popping in at any time of day to whisk us away for afternoon tea or lunch. While the distractions may actually help the weaning process by taking us away from Little A's familiar environment of home, at least we will be doing things at his pace and time.

In mid-August comes Big A's weeklong holiday, which we will be spending in the mountains as we have done every year since 2003, except for last year when Little A was just born. I hope to have him fully weaned by then, six weeks from now. Let's see how it goes.