My Toddler Is High Maintenance

Freddy is my fifth child.  I thought I'd seen it all as far as parenting is concerned.  I believed my attachment parenting ideology worked perfectly well and that fifth time round would be a breeze.  The girls became independent, confident toddlers with good routines very quickly.  Not so with Fred!!

At 27 months old, Freddy still sleeps in my bed waking a few times every night.  He is the lightest sleeper, constantly twitching and fidgeting.  He still breast feeds and looks at me incredulously if I suggest that he might like milk from a cup instead!

He hardly eats during the day and has little interest in food, unless he is having a growth spurt whereby he'll eat constantly all day.  His lack of good and consistent dining makes going to restaurants a nightmare.  The lure of dinner is not enough to convince him to sit still.  He just wants to run around all the time at breakneck speed.  So many times at hotels, Ian has taken him to run around outside while the girls and I eat dinner in peace. Yesterday I took the family to the Cafe at Morisson's for lunch and Freddy rolled around  on the floor and ran up and down the aisles.  You simply cannot contain him, he is a ball of energy that needs to be expelled or he will meltdown.  I bumped into an old friend who viewed my attempt at toddler taming with great hilarity and a few sympathetic "...and at your age too!" looks as I chased after my boy for the twentieth time.  How I'd love to adopt the European eating out mentality and enjoy a relaxed dining experience with my children!  Maybe in a few years it will happen.

My biggest issue with Freddy's way of doing things is his hatred of clothing.  He is a child with the same taste in clothing as Tarzan.  Bear chest, bear legs and shoeless wearing nothing but his nappy (Oh yes he will not potty train either.  Every effort I've made in this direction has been met with derision and the unused potty being thrown over the safety gate in disgust!)  Freddy literally screams when you dress him which is so stressful and upsetting.  Neither cajoling or a firm hand makes any difference...he likes being nude!  When he does go down the clothing route, he wants to wear one of his older sisters' item of clothing.  Many times, Kizzy has brought Freddy downstairs resplendent in one of her dresses.  Oh dear!  I'm all for gender neutral parenting, but my boy in a pink frock is not suitable attire for the school run.

For all his high maintenance behaviour, Freddy remains a constant source of utter delight to everyone who loves him.  He is bright, chatty, loving, funny and really quite adorable.  He is a unique character and a real individual.  I know from experience that he will grow out of all these quirks.  One day he will surprise me and sleep through the night!  He will self wean and potty train in his own time.  His energy levels will settle down to the point where he can sit through a meal without feeling the need to sprint around.

But until that point, I will continue to relish every moment of my high maintenance toddler.  I really wouldn't have it any other way, because to change even the slightest thing about him would be a crime.

I'm not a New Age mother...I'm just me!

Today, I discovered a new blog Naturally Mummy.  It resonated with me.  It made me feel like I am not alone in the world!  Although Freddy is my fifth baby, and my experience with my other children has confirmed to me that my parenting techniques clearly do work, I still have a mild dose of embarrassment at how I choose to raise my babies. I tend not to talk about my ways to other mums because I know I'll be judged as some New Age ideologist.  This is ridiculous because my older children are all confident, successful, independent, well rounded, open, loving people. I have exteremely good relationships with them all and always have done. I did a good job...it can't be a total fluke, unrelated to their upbringing.  But singing my own praises is something that does not come easy to me. Even now, aged 41, I have a deep set insecurity that causes me to question everything I do, even when faced with the evidence, I find it hard to take credit for all that is good in my life. 

We are bombarded with childcare advice through the media.  How to lie your baby down to sleep, when to wean, what to feed them.  This imformation has constantly changed in the last 22 years.  When Joe was born we were told to lie them on their tummies at night and wean at 3 months.  Now it's "back to bed" and solids at 6 months.  Needless to say, in another 20 years time it'll all be different again.  Motherhood is not a science.  It is instinctive, organic and everchanging. 

My own personal view of mothering is that the baby is a little human animal.  They aren't privvy to the latest W.H.O. guidelines. All they have is their needs.  As a mum, I want to meet these needs in the most natural way possible.  With Freddy, I have breastfed on demand since birth.  He's never had to cry for a feed.  He's never known hunger.  He knows what he wants and I provide it.  Obviously since discovering the joys of solid food and diluted fruit juice, his need for his milk has lessened but is still a big part of his diet and his comfort.  At 15 months old, a lot of people think I should stop feeding him altogether, but I'm not in any rush.  The alternative, cow's milk, seems like an unnecessary step at this time.  I can provide perfect milk for him...and it's completely free!  No need to stop yet...maybe after I've seen him through Winter.  With all the germs that do the rounds, breast milk offers a degree of immunity and really does have magic properties if baby has a cold or a sickness bug!

In the same vein, I'm not a believer of babies needing to cry themselves to sleep.  Using the little animal analogy, a crying infant would attract prey to the nest.  The baby would lie close to its mother, safe in her proximity and with access to the life-giving breastmilk.  OK, I know the wolves won't come if I leave Fred to cry...but why does he need to cry at all. I don't want him to feel afraid, alone or unloved for even a second.  I know that is really emotive, and that babies forget in an instant, but for me personally, I just can't do it.  I don't have to do it and I'm fully prepared to sacrifice my "me time" for the next three years to satisfy my methods!  Luckily I have a husband who feels the same way.  He has named this technique and calls himself an "N.C" Advocate (i.e. No Crying).  We have co-slept with him since birth to no ill effect.  He has his own sleeping area...a three sided cot against my side of the king sized bed.  He is free to wriggle across to me for warmth, comfort or a feed and the disturbance to me and my husband is minimal.  He wakes up happy.  We know that this time next year he will be in his own bedroom, enticed by the lure of his own sports car bed.  It's not for ever...just for now.

 I guess our methods could be akin to the Attachment Parenting movement.  The portrayal of this on the TV recently showed the parents in quite a poor light.  They were almost mocked by the editing and shown to be weird New Age types.  The families portrayed were quite extreme and militant.  It's a shame therefore that most people would assume that someone who is raising their child in the Attachment method would breastfeed until the child is 8 years old or would let their newborn go nappy-less as a pro Elimination Communication fan.  We don't subscribe to these extremes.  We are two very normal parents doing what we personally think is best.  I've never really conformed to the norm and like to do my own thing, this is no different.  I'd never tell anyone else to raise their child like this.  It is hard, time consuming, intense, limiting and emotionally draining at times.  But I am dedicated to this approach and it is only for such a short time.  None of my babies raised this way have turned into clingy children.  They are very confident and self-assured.  They are independent and happy to put themselves to bed without any fuss.  Sometimes I do still feel guilty that I'm not more conventional...but this is when my husband simply says "You just have to look at our kids to know we're doing the right thing!"  and I know exactly what he means.

When they fly the nest....

Generally speaking, I love that my two eldest children have flown the coop.  Not that I wanted them out or did not enjoy living with them...because I actually loved the relationships I had with them in the home.  It was though, because I knew I'd done a good job.  I'd equipped them,  through years of nurturing and advice to be able to stand on their own two feet with the confidence and self-belief they needed to start their own journeys into the big wide world.  It was with a mixture of great pride and bitter-sweet self-indulgent emotions that I said goodbye to my big kids.  Both left in the same year, 2009. 

Joe went off to live with his much adored girlfriend Jade in her hometown some one hundred miles away from me.  He found himself a job there before he left (my one stipulation to his going) and I watched him drive away in his own car to start a new life independently.  (We actually followed him in our car because we had half his stuff in our boot and he needed our help to move into their new flat...but the imagery of waving him off would have been lost!!) My son was a man...albeit a man who still thinks it is funny to stick pegs on my feet, make prank phone calls and who eats a whole box of Cadbury's Mini Rolls in one go!  But that is what makes him Joe...my little baby boy who is now all grown up!!!  I've not lost him at all...we are redifining our mother/son relationship and I am excited by all future twists and turns that promises to deliver. 

Megan is three years younger than Joe and she left to go to the University of Manchester.  She was just 17 as she took her A'Levels a year earlier than her peers.  Her journey was slightly more fraught as, because of her age, she was allocated accommodation in an all-girls fully catered hall of residence.  A devastating prospect to my fun loving party girl!  We had tears...lots of tears!  I left her in the "prison cell" of her room.  I felt so helpless as I was unable to ease her sadness and disappointment.  There was no exceptions for underage girls being in the halls without a warden...this was her lot for her first year of university.  It was meant to be the time of her life, but she was destined to live an alcohol-free, boyless, partyless existence....or so we thought! As we drove away I couldn't hold in the sobs.  My little girl alone with no likeminded people to call friends.  However 15 minutes into my guilt-ridden journey home I got a call on my mobile. A buoyant, bouncy voiced daughter regaled me with tales of the goings on of the first quarter of an hour of life at uni.  Turns out there were cool girls in the halls afterall (others too young for a warden-free first year or those who failed to secure their first choices of accommodation) but they'd all been off shopping at the Trafford Centre for the day.  They returned the second we had left with pizzas and beers and promises of a night out with the boys from the all-boys hall.  Things were going to be OK.  In her own irrepressible style Meg snared the barman, a second year student, from their night out...they've been together ever since!  I had given her the tools she needed after all...I should've had faith!