In our house we try to avoid the TV and really enjoy the following activities: card-making (ds and dd both love glue, glitter, paints, cutting out and stencilling). Then we like to act out little plays and stories from our books, baking, jewellery-making and dance-related activities.
There’s lots more but we’re on our way to music class now so I’ll come back on later with other ideas.
ZoeyB
Eh don’t bother, ZoeyB, I thought – I was exhausted just reading your list. Are you forgetting this woman will alsohave a newborn baby? You have her tidying up after glue, glitter, baking and beads – she’ll be a basket case!
I read on. Oooh, Star7 was back and she was mad as hell!
Hello again ZoeyB
If you read my post again I did say communal TV watching.
I wasn’t suggesting she lock her dd in a different room for 24hrs with just a TV for company! I see nothing wrong with snuggling up on the couch to watch a bit of Peppa Pig, new baby in one arm, toddler in the other. A bit of bonding for everyone. What you’re suggesting means the house will be like a tip and poor Babylicious will be stuck at the kitchen table while new baby screams for a feed.
Not the first time you’ve twisted my words like that. Why don’t you follow someone else on here and annoy them instead!
Wooo-hooo!
I was intrigued now. These girls obviously knew each other, or at least had crossed swords on this site before.
Just as I started to think that this parenting-forum stuff was better than the TV, there was a knock on the door.
I jumped guiltily and slammed the laptop shut.
“Come in?” I said.
The door opened and in stepped Mark, cautiously, hampered by the fact that he had to lower his head coming in the door while trying to hold a tray with both hands.
“I thought you’d like a coffee while you’re studying,” he said.
I was flabbergasted. This was not the Mark I knew.
“I’d – well, I’d love one, eh – thank you,” I stuttered. “Thank you very much.”
His huge frame made my tiny room seem even smaller, and I flushed with the sudden realisation that he, a ‘strange’ man, was in my bedroom. Without looking, I hoped that there was none of my underwear on show. But I needn’t have worried. He stood there, head forced sideways by the sloping ceiling, and looked awkwardly at me.
With a jolt I realised he was still holding the tray.
“Gosh. Sorry – let me take that from you.”
“Thanks,” he said, looking like he couldn’t get out of there quick enough. “I’ll, eh, see you downstairs in a while then.”
“Em, yes, I shouldn’t be too long.”
“Right.”
He turned and stooped again to go through the door.
“Thanks again!” I called after him, but he was gone.
Well, it was the nicest coffee I’d had in weeks – and chocolate biscuits too.
Good man, Mark, you’re not all bad!
An hour later I was completely hooked. It seemed that thebabyline.ie was like Facebook for mothers, albeit all under a thin veil of anonymity. They all seemed to know each other or at least each other’s on-line personas, and the depth of information that they supplied about their daily goings-on was incredible.
While it seemed most contributors dipped in and out, one lady, who went by the name ‘simonfan’, seemed to be around to chat at any hour of the day or night. Anyhow, by the time my hour was up, I knew how many children she had, what she was having for dinner, that she hated her mother-in-law and that she ‘dtd’ with her husband that morning. Despite the fact that ‘did the dishes’ was the best I could come up for that abbreviation, I had my doubts that that was what she meant.
A whole new world was opened up to me and I literally had to drag myself away when the smell of cooking started to sneak under my door. Mark was an absolute disaster in the kitchen. There was nothing for it but to close my laptop and head downstairs.
I counted in my head how long it would be until the kids were in bed and I could return to my new discovery. The things that got me excited these days . . .
Chapter 29
Wednesday found me on a bus again. Really, I hadn’t taken as much public transport in my entire life as I had these past few weeks. This time I was bound for a country pub, just off the beaten track, a trip that would involve two buses. But I didn’t care. It seemed like forever since the last time we’d met and I couldn’t wait to see Oliver again.
And, as this time he was bringing his car, I was hoping he’d suggest the scenic route home . . .
A shiver of excitement ran through me at the thought.
A bit of romance was exactly what I needed.
Mark’s crisis of conscience on Saturday had predictably not lasted long and since then he’d been working round the clock. Apparently his practice partner Fenton was away which meant he had to be on call for several days on the go as Tara was not yet experienced enough to handle the calls on her own. She hadn’t been to the house since the night I’d been to Dawn’s but it was obvious by his tone when he was talking to her on the phone that she was about the only person he didn’t bark at.
Including me.
Anyhow, Fenton had arrived back on Tuesday night, meaning Mark had no excuse for not staying home this evening.
I badly needed the break. Minding the children was exhausting. To be fair, Amber had come on in leaps and bounds since ‘the methods’ had been put into practice. But I was fast discovering that staying home with children, no matter how well they behaved, was a demanding and thankless job.
There was also another slight problem that had arisen. And I had no one to blame but myself.
The school run.
Actually, anything that involved leaving the house and bumping into other people.
Other mothers.
Other mothers who wanted advice.
Seriously, it was like I’d gone viral.
It had all started harmlessly enough. Well, I suppose it really started with Ellen and that first fateful foray into dispensing child-rearing advice about Controlled Crying. Then of course I’d had the near miss with Noreen Costello. When I’d rung her that evening with my Sleep Association ‘findings’, she’d been ecstatic. I had been sorely tempted to tell her that all this and so much more was hers for the taking if she just fired up her computer and got Googling. But if it was one thing I’d learnt over the last few days, it was that Irish mothers seemed to have an aversion to anything that might possibly have been gleaned from a book. I was assuming that a website would be treated with equal vitriol.
“Don’t talk to me about those baby books!” they’d hiss with pure venom. “Sure what would they know?”
But for some bizarre reason, they didn’t mind taking the advice from me, who had, ironically, just taken it from a book.
Not that they knew that of course.
No, I was the American Nanny.
The Oracle.
Which was okay if I could answer whatever question they sprang at me. And to be fair, my knowledge was accumulating. When I wasn’t spending my spare time reading, I was on the internet, plundering the babyline for nuggets of wisdom. Let’s face it, there wasn’t exactly a vast array of ways to spend my spare time these days.
But then I came up against little Rosie Fagan and her messy poos.
Oh yes.
And I should have said, ‘Do you know what, Mrs Fagan, I have no idea why your daughter has up to three messy poos a day. Go to your doctor.’
But I didn’t.
I looked at the woman’s anxious face and stupidly said, “Oh, Mrs Fagan, that’s quite interesting. I could chat to you about it now but I have to takeJamie to the dentist – leave it with me though – I promise I’ll get back to you.”
And home I went. No point in going to the books on this one – it was definitely a case for the internet.
“Messy poos, messy poos, messy poos,” I hummed to myself as I surfed
.
“Meh-meh ooos!” chanted Amber beside me.
“Yes, Amber, meh-meh ooos indeed,” I smiled. But I wasn’t having much luck. Plenty of posts concerning ‘no poos’ but none relating to the ‘messy’ variety.
Then I had an idea. I closed out to the home page. My mouse hovered over the register button for a second.
Come on, what harm will it do?You can de-register just as soon as you get the info you need.No one will know you!
Then I inhaled deeply and started to type.
Hi girls,
I’m new to this board but I was wondering if anyone could help me. I have a three-year-old dd
who well, sorry if tmi, has messy poos.
Tmi meant ‘too much information’. I had discovered a glossary on the site that explained all the abbreviations: dd meant ‘darling daughter’, dsmeant ‘darling son’,dh was ‘darlinghusband’, hth was ‘hope this helps’. . . oh, and dtd was ‘did the deed’ . . .
I’m quite careful about what she eats, but not obsessive iykwim.
That meant ‘if you know what I mean’ – boy, was I getting into this!
I’ve had her at the doctor and he said to keep a food diary. The thing is I’m not noticing it relating to any food in particular.
Thankfully, I’d got into the habit of cross-examining the mammies so that I’d be armed with as many of the facts as possible when it came to trying to find the answers.
Any help or advice would be gratefully accepted.
I liked the last bit. Nothing like a bit of humblegratitude to get them onside.
I signed off: MarshaG
I especially loved my username. It kind of made up for that time she wouldn’t let me borrow her ID for the local disco.
And now there was nothing left to do but wait. I closed the computer and got started on the dinner.
As it happened, it was bedtime before I managed to get back to the PC that night. Mark, surprise, surprise, was working and I had a mountain of laundry that simply wasn’t going to iron itself. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if laundry should come under my remit but, as I felt increasing guilt that my tenure as Nanny of the Fielding Household was reaching an end in literally weeks, I was willing to overlook the small print of my contract.
So at almost ten I opened my emails to see if I’d had any replies.
You have seven new messages.
And all seven were notifications from the babyline.
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Logging into the site, I started to read . . .
Hey MarshaG,
First of all welcome to the babyline! Great to see a new face around here.
Now wasn’t that nice.
Sorry to hear about your dd, nappies are bad enough without that kind of issue!Do you mind me asking has she always been like this?
Feck. I don’t know.
The thing is, if she is then I’m wondering could it be some kind of allergy or intolerance?
Oh. Hadn’t thought of that.
I think you should definitely take her to see someone, if not your doctor then maybe an allergist or paediatrician.
Let us know how you get on.
Suki10
I kept reading. This was good stuff.
Next up was a nice lady called Dingdongdell (like really?).
Hi MarshaG,
I’ve no experience of this but I just wanted to welcome you on board – as Suki says, tis great to see a new face!
Girls – what are you doing to me! I’m nearly crying here.
Just one thing though, pooing like that all the time isn’t normal. You should definitely go back to your doctor and demand some answers.
Dingdongdell.
Well, thanks, Dingdongdell, but you’re not giving me
much there.
It wasn’t until I read the next reply that the discussion got going in earnest.
FunkyMunky knew her stuff . . .
Hi MarshaG
I totally feel your pain. My dd was the exact same.
Brilliant. Now we were getting places.
I’d almost stake my life that your dd is lactose-intolerant just like mine.
Really?
It started when she was born. Always had huge issues with milk, throwing up all the time, never finishing bottles, always either constipated or with a runny bum. Has your daughter got a constantly runny nose too?
Em. I don’t know. Maybe?
Anyhow, I took her to the doctor and to be honest, I think he thought I was overreacting. But I knew something was wrong. Anyhow, I did what you’re doing, kept a food diary, but like you just couldn’t spot a pattern. Then one day I spotted a thread on here.
I already knew that ‘thread’ was the name used for a discussion on internet forums.
I can bump it up for you if you like.
That meant updating it so as to move it up the discussion board to where I could find it.
Anyway, it mentioned a new milk that you could purchase called Lacto-free and I decided to give it a try. All I can say, Marsha, is NEW CHILD.
No runny nose, no constipation, no eczema.
I practically punched the air. FunkyMunky, you little beauty!
And on it went: two more people agreed with FunkyMunky, another gave me the name of her allergist, another suggested goat’s milk.
In literally half an hour I had all the information I needed. I went to bed that night exhausted and dreamt of messy poos the whole night long.
Any wonder a girl was in need of a bit of romancing?
Chapter 30
“I’ve missed you.” Oliver reached across the table and stroked my face. “It’s just not the same without you.”
“Yeah, right,” I smiled. “You just have no one to blame everything on now.”
“Well, there is that too,” he admitted. “I didn’t realise quite how much flack you took. But I’m serious – it’s so boring.”
“We won’t always get to work together, you know.”
“I know, but at least we’ll get to live together when we’re in New York.”
“Oh really? When did we decide that?” I teased.
“Well, I just presumed . . . I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it does. We’d have to get our own place though – it’s not like we can both move back in with Monica.”
Apartment-hunting together in New York! My heart gave a flutter at the thought. In a few weeks that’s exactly what we’d be doing. Deciding between a studio in East Village and a brownstone in the Upper West Side. There were days now where my former life in the most exciting city in the world seemed a million light years away. It was so hard to imagine that in a few short weeks we’d be there. Together.
I sighed with pure happiness and looked at my menu.
A menu.
That alone was a treat. I’d almost forgotten that there were people out there who got to pick what they were going to eat from a list.
And have it handed to them.
And not have to wash the pots.
“Oh, this is heaven,” I murmured.
“Eh, Holly, it’s pub grub?”
“I know. But it will be handed to me. Cooked. And I don’t have to wash up.”
“Why, are you living in a cave? Don’t tell me you have to go out these days and hunt for your food? I’d have thought that, at the very least, that Neanderthal you’re going out with would catch it for you.”
“Ha ha, very funny,” I answered, hoping he didn’t keep this up. I’d been deliberately hazy about my exact living arrangements and had no desire to fill him in.
But he wasn’t giving up.
“So how is Hairy these days?”
“Harry,” I corrected him. “He’s fine. And I’ve told you before: I’m not going out with him.”
Oliver grunted. “I’m sure that’s not his choice.”
“Well, what does it matter whose choice it is?” I couldn’t help being coy, there was no harm in him thinking he h
ad a bit of rivalry. “Harry has been very good to me. He got me a job and a place to live and without him I wouldn’t be here right now, so the least you can do is get his name right.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” Oliver yawned. “I’m bored with him.”
“Okay so. Any word on the promotions?”
He immediately looked down at his menu.
“Eh, no. Not yet.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing, nothing.”
“Are they out? Did you not get it?” I was torn between alarm that this might be true and elation that, if so, there would then be nothing stopping us heading to America.
“No. No, seriously, there’s no word yet. It’s looking good for me actually. That’s the good news . . .” He trailed off.
“And what’s the bad?” I demanded.
“Oh look, it doesn’t matter.”
“It obviously does matter!”
“No. You’re going to go crazy and the evening will be ruined.”
“Try me.” My voice was icy, and totally belied the panic that was choking me inside.
“Well, my lease is up. On the apartment.”
“And?”
“And, well, it’s hardly worth me getting somewhere else, if I’m going away with you in a couple of weeks.”
I didn’t like where this was going.
“And?” I said again.
“Stop saying ‘and’!”
“I will, when you tell me exactly what’s going on!”
“Well, it’s just that Catherine’s offered –”
“No!” I shouted, standing up.
“Holly, sit down!”
“What kind of a fool do you take me for? Goodbye, Oliver!” I scraped my chair back from the table and, tears springing to my eyes, I rushed from the pub.
“Holly, come back!” Oliver was out after me immediately.
But I was almost running now, to where I don’t know.
He grabbed my arm and swung me around.
Between You and Me Page 20