A SUDDEN OBSESSION WITH DEATH

Driving home from nursery the other day Léon suddenly burst into tears and threw himself into my arms at the traffic lights (he was in the front beside me as both girls' car seats were in the back of the micra that day). What on earth could be so wrong after a nice morning at nursery with his little friends? Inconsolable, he sobbed 'Who'll hug me Mummy once you are dead?' I have no idea where the sudden obsession with death came from but a long discussion ensued in which I more or less had to promise not to die till my hundredth birthday to calm him down. Tonight when I'd read them their story and sung a song or two, it started again. This time there was no crying but he asked me out of the blue 'Who'll give Amaia her doodah (the family word for breast milk since Marcel invented it as a toddler) once you are dead?' Again I stressed I would be old when I died and Amaia herself would be old and therefore no longer in need of milk. After asking when Thomas, Anna and I would die, he started to ask about people who were already dead. 'Are Thomas's mummy and daddy dead?' he asked. 'No Thomas's mummy and daddy are Brita and Peter' I explained. 'Oh, who is dead then?' 'Granny's mummy and daddy are dead' I told him, knowing this would be unlikely to upset him overly given he didn't know them. 'Who were they?' he asked. 'My Granny and Gramps' I told him. Because his French grandfather died many years before he was born, I ventured 'Opa is dead'. 'Opa lives in the forest' he replied. Opa is buried in a little French cemetery on the edge of a forest and Pudge has visited his grave. I tried to explain graveyards 'Cemeteries are where dead bodies are taken. Opa 'lives' in that big stone house you've seen in the forest.' 'So when's he going to get alive again?' 'Once you are dead you don't come alive again' I explained to him. He let out a huge sigh of exasperation 'If he's never going to be alive again, how on earth is he going to go to the dentist?' At that point I gave up - I was just speechless. Why on earth is this four year old concerned with how his long-dead grandfather is going to keep an appointment with the dentist?

NATURAL LIGHTING

I love to take photos with natural light indoors rather than the harshness of a flash, especially when babies are the subject. Instead of the startled what-was-that-flash? look, you just get a lovely, so-real-you-can-hug-it shot of your very own teeny troll.

I'M SPEECHLESS

For goodness sake! What kind of planet are we living on???? I'd be horrified if I had an 18 month old who couldn't identify fruit and veg. This is unimaginable to me. Mind you, I have tried to teach them from early on about good food and of course Thomas grows it in the garden so they know exactly where it comes from too!
I have to say that one of the major advantages of having a big family is not being able to afford ready meals so the kids get to see how to make food from the bottom up and of course it also forces the big ones into having their own cooking days which further advances this knowledge. Tell them to go cook a meal for ten from raw ingredients, they are completely undaunted.

THOSE TWO NEWBORNS AGAIN!

When you see two human babies separated in age by just six weeks, you have to conclude that a large part of the first few months' growth is concentrated on the head and brain area! Poor little Lana looks like Amaia might try to swallow her whole! It's funny to think that just nine months down the line they are likely to be more or less the same size!

EASTER FLOWERS

We were sent a pretty Easter card by Thomas's mum. I have had a vague notion though, since we received it, that something was odd about it.
Suddenly today it struck me. It was the juxtaposition of snowdrops and Easter. To me in Scotland (with the obvious exception of this year) snowdrops are a January, or February at a pinch, flower. Easter is hyacinths, and maybe the tail end of the daffodil season, but definitely nothing to do with snowdrops!
It is funny how our climates are very slightly different despite the geographical proximity. After all the west Scotland is an area where you encounter dozens of palm trees - and I'm yet to bump into one of those in Denmark!

BEFORE WE IMPORT THEIR CULTURE LOCK, STOCK AND BARREL...

I notice the UK is slowly becoming America. When I was a child there were no drive thru burger places. There was no 24 hour shopping in supermarkets the size of small towns. We went out 'guising' at Halloween, not 'trick-or-treating'. Our lanterns were made of Swede, not pumpkin. Our cars had accelerators, not gas pedals and we parked in car parks, not parking lots. The list is endless.
But as a word of warning before we hang our culture out to dry and accept their way of life, we should occasionally look up at what is different and better here in Europe and the UK. Take holidays, for example - I for one couldn't imagine having any quality family life on a US ration of holidays.
Worse still, today I was appalled to find out about their idea of maternity leave. When I was pregnant, I joined an online web club which mailed me a weekly pregnancy update. As a rough guide I was told the approximate size of the baby, its development, changes to expect in my own body. I didn't realize at the time these updates would continue after birth. It was a US site. Today's update shocked and upset me:

• Your Baby Week 9

  Now is the time many mothers will go back to work. Leaving your baby will always be hard but there are ways to make the transition smoother.

  If you are breastfeeding your baby should be adjusted to taking the bottle when you are not around by this point. This will help the separation go smoother for both of you. Don't fret about taking a pump to work and pumping during your breaks. This is a good time to store up milk for the next day.

  Take the transition slow, introducing your baby to time away before the big day comes. Drop the baby off for a couple of hours at the day care, or child care provider's home where the baby will be staying. Spend time there with baby, letting the baby know that you are comfortable and trusting of the place, as it will then be less scary for your infant.

  Forgo the bottles on the weekend, and use that time for consistent nursing and to keep your milk supply going strong. This is also a good time to strengthen your bond with your baby after being away at work all week.

What crazy kind of society thinks 9 weeks is the point when many mothers should return to full-time employment? Apart from the physical demand on a woman who has only slept midnight to 3am, 4am-7am, (on a good night) this seems positively barbaric to me. I remember how I felt in 1997 when going back full-time was compulsory at week 29. I cried buckets, I held and hugged Marcel all weekend, I tried not to sleep at night so I could look at my baby, my breasts and heart ached for him. It wasn't until the UK brought in 52 weeks maternity leave in 2005 that I felt prepared to go back to work as a psychologically whole person. So today I have held and hugged Amaia and felt happy to live in a country where returning to full-time employment this morning is not a requirement. I have held her close and made her feel safe and when she's wanted milk I have been there for her to suckle on warmly, as I should be when she is so tiny and helpless.

ONE OF THOSE SURREAL PARENTING MOMENTS

The little car decided the trip to nursery this morning at 8-45am was the best possible time to blow a tyre... thanks little car.
I considered changing it myself for about 25 seconds and then decided that's what I was paying Tesco breakdown for.
After a 45 minute wait with Léon and Anna dancing round and round on the pavement, a very nice gentleman from Hamilton Motors turned up to rescue me.
He took off the hub cap and jacked it up. The kids were fascinated and wanted to stand in the middle of the road to watch the wheel being removed. Obviously that wouldn't be safe so the man put the hub cap on the pavement and told them their job was to look after it. They took their task very seriously, sitting down instantly and staring at it without blinking. After a few minutes Léon said 'It's a bit like a pizza', and from there a whole pizza game ensued. They put on toppings, cooked it and took turns at pretending to eat slices. The mechanic commented on the wonders of infant imagination...I should have seen it coming when Léon mentioned his had more tomato on it than her slice... Suddenly Anna burst into hysterical sobs. 'What's up?' I asked, assuming she'd jammed a finger somewhere or suchlike. 'Léon finished the whole pizza!' she blurted out heartbroken and indignant. She turned to him in disgust. 'Why did you eat all the pizza?' she cried before pushing him and trying to slap him. I could see the mechanic chuckling behind the wheel as I dragged her off him before she physically injured him for stealing her pizza!
Gimme strength!

THE BOOBS SHOULD HAVE SEEN IT ALL

You all know I should be on the NHS ads for breastfeeding having fed the kids on average till the age of two. I have never given a baby a bottle in my life and would need to read the instructions if I had to! So you would have have thought my boobs wouldn't be able to experience anything new on the feeding front. I have had thrush on the breasts from all the kids' mouths in the early days. I've had blocked ducts at least three or four times with each baby so I know all about cabbage and boob-combing. I've had mastitis (the worst illness of my life - like flu with knobs on) once with Charlotte at nine months, and once with Léon so know the first signs of that mean beg for antibiotics instantly before you are shaking so much you can't get them into your mouth. When I had Anna I got cracked nipples for the first time ever and had to resort to those awful nipple protectors at least on four occasions. I cursed the little besom for sucking wrongly but got on with it.
This week, however, has been the worst of my eight or nine years of breastfeeding. Last Tuesday night my left breast felt like I was developing a blocked duct so I had a hot bath and combed. No result... so I went to bed having taken two nurofen and slept a total of 35 minutes in the whole night. My temperature soared, my clothes were soaked through and I was in a great deal of pain. I assumed mastitis and begged for the antibiotics on Wednesday. I managed half a night's sleep but again had to change all my clothes and was still in agony. Friday didn't see it improve and it was starting to nip.
I noticed Amaia's mouth was white again - did I have mastitis with thrush thrown in? I googled.
I seemed to be showing the signs of the thrush being inside the ducts rather than on the nipple. Inside I was on fire and I could feel swollen lumps all the way along at least one of the ducts between my nipple and my underarm. Even when you know it is feeding-related, feeling tangible lumps inside your breast sits uneasy with you as a woman :-(
I have now been on a different set of antibiotics since Monday and have had oral thrush treatment. I can now almost touch my breast but often get a short hot stabbing pain on the inside and feeding has gone from excruciating to vaguely unpleasant so I have a way to go yet. I just hope when I finish my antibiotics tomorrow things continue to improve slowly because the next 22 months are going to be a nightmare otherwise!

WOOLLY BOOTS WITH LACES

Socks and shoes have always been an issue with tiny babies. Apart from the ridiculously expensive Baby Gap socks I have never had a baby who managed to keep his or hers on at all. When you are born around Xmas, you don't want to be hanging around barefoot. Until I had Anna, I had persevered with countless lost socks and shoes and frozen toes. When Anna was born Thomas's Danish cousin sent us a pair of home-knitted booties. I put them on her one day without thinking about it and realized that the laces meant they didn't fall off, and therefore the socks also stayed on. Bingo! By the time Anna was six months old, her one pair of booties was pretty scabby but had definitely proved useful. This time round, my mum must have remembered me raving about them because she knitted Amaia five or six pairs. I, too, made her a pair so Amaia has never had cold feet in her life! I'm a bit annoyed at myself for not thinking of this earlier. I guess very few people knit baby clothes now that shop-bought clothes are actually cheaper, but when it comes to shoes I'd definitely recommend these over any of the cheaper shop models that, like the socks, simply fall off. Time for back-to-basics on the baby shoe front!

PUBLIC OR PRIVATE?

Now here's an example of a completely irrelevant piece of journalism. I clicked on it having worked for exactly twenty years in the private sector surrounded by friends in the public domain so considered myself well placed to analyse it. But comparing one random person in the private sector with anyone is utterly pointless given private companies set their own agenda.

So for all you public workers out there who are rushing to hand in your notice tomorrow to pursue a job in the private sector here's a bit of the UK private sector I know (from my own experience, and that of other family members).

Core hours are probably between 35 and 38 hrs a week.

Salary is probably on a par with or slightly lower than public sector for equivalent post. With rises of 1 - 1.5% annually for 10 years many private sector jobs have nosedived behind public equivalents. (For example when I started work in publishing in 1991 I earned 30% more than a school teacher, by the time I left the sector 18 years later I was 30% below a school teacher with the same number of years experience because of low annual rises and salary scales that had been abandoned but not replaced.)

Holidays 25 days a year - but taking them given your workload is unlikely so count on losing 3 or 4 at the end of every holiday year.

Overtime - Twenty years ago rates were written into your contract, ten years later rates were dropped as was overtime, now overtime is an everyday occurrence, compulsory, unpaid, and you never hear a 'thank you' - this is the case for all the private sector job holders I know.

Company pension - final salary schemes were phased out 7 or 8 years ago for the most part and thereafter those on final schemes have become easy picking in every round of redundancies but this is of course simply 'coincidence'.

Bonus - 1% if you were eligible, in my own case I was not and never received a bonus in 20 years though other family members have. Often private sector workers receive an annual bonus instead of a salary increase so they have, to all intents and purposes, been on a pay freeze for most of the last 5 years - not great for mortgage purposes.

Benefits - Healthcare discounts and money-saving offers at selected retailers. Again in my case this was not something I was eligible for though other family members have received these.

Union membership - if you want to pay every month you could join a union but no one will strike or complain because of job insecurity so it is irrelevant.

Something the article doesn't mention is sick pay. Sick pay is something public workers take for granted - I have even heard of NHS workers applying for holidays to be retaken when they've fallen sick on holiday. In my experience sick pay in the private sector is irrelevant as being off sick just isn't allowed - with redundancies hanging over you always, being off sick became a luxury about 4 or 5 years ago.

TWO NEWBORN BABIES

Today I took Amaia to visit her new playmate 'Lana'. Lana was born exactly six weeks to the day after Amaia. Because Lana weighed only 60% of Amaia's weight at birth, and because Amaia has had six weeks to gorge herself on breast milk seeing them together was quite comical. Technically they are both newborn babies but with Lana still too little to fit in the 0-3 month clothes and Amaia already into the 3-6 month size despite her tender age, I don't think many people would consider Amaia a newborn beside Lana! Amaia looks like she could eat her for dinner. Funnily enough after I left Lana to drive home, I bumped into a friend who hadn't seen Amaia yet. Her own kids are grown up so she took one look at Amaia and announced Awwwh - she's soooo tiny! It's all relative, I guess!

ASDA

This is the mother and child row of parking spaces at Newton Mearns ASDA today. Needless to say when I did find a parking space, I also found the shelves of the supermarket fairly empty. I guess the delivery trucks were having trouble negotiating the weather conditions. So we're having a bit of an improvised dinner!

OUCH

I hadn't managed to get out all day, not even for the school runs but with the rain on, I decided to attempt it at 3pm. The blue car was the obvious choice, being heavier and more powerful. I jumped in, turned the key and bang, the car sunk. I jumped out and saw I'd blown a tyre. I found that a bit odd, given I hadn't actually moved so couldn't have run over anything under the snow. The thought of jacking up such a big, heavy seven-seater didn't appeal, especially in the snow so I checked with Tesco Breakdown and was pleased to hear that my policy covered someone coming out and changing it for me. Within the hour a bloke with a jack knocked my door. He said it'd take ten minutes. Of course, he then rang the doorbell to say he'd found the wheel spring had snapped bursting my tyre, so firstly my tyre couldn't be changed, secondly I would need to be towed to a garage for repair and finally he couldn't get the tow truck down my street until the snow had melted. That was Thursday. The street and car are still in the same state and the seven of us are wondering how to walk as far as Silverburn to go birthday shopping for both Mum and Amanda. I am considering going out with my hairdryer on an extension cable if it hasn't gone before Monday. Thomas is going down south next week so I am trying to work out how to drive five kids and myself to school, not that five need to go to school but I can't really leave Anna home to babysit Amaia while I do the school run! It's going to be another fun week.

DECAPITATED SNOWMAN

I went out into my garden and found this sitting on the garden table. I have to say it reminded me of many of the old Calvin and Hobbes snowman sketches. Should I be worried about Charlotte's psyche?

AMAIA-LÉON

I've been saying since day one that Amaia looks more like Pudge than she looks like the others. Today I happened upon this photo of Léon taken at five weeks. There's a definite similarity... 

LEARNING TO GARDEN

My parents have always lived in a house but to say they were never keen gardeners would be an understatement! They like a wee bit lawn, some quartz chips and an ornamental plant pot or two and would happily have someone else cut the grass if money was no object. They have never to my knowledge grown anything to eat: no herbs or fruit or veg. Consequently, what I learned from them was that instead of weeding, you cover your garden in plastic, put stones on top and then pots, thus removing the need to weed. Being more of a flowers and food girl, I didn't follow their polythene advice and therefore spend a good deal of my summers weeding. Thomas's mother was over seeing Amaia the second week in January. Brita is a big gardener. She went out to weed one day. I found this a bit strange given the baltic conditions but she explained that weeds are really easy to pull out in their dormant January phase. I went out to my raspberry patch to test her theory. The patch that is a day's work mid-summer took less than an hour to weed in January, and the weeds were so weak I could pull them out without a tool. I was amazed. Forty two, and just learning to garden now!

NO MORE DAHL :-(

Looks like I'm off lentil dahl for lent... possibly till Easter 2011 in fact. I had a lovely bowl of it on Saturday at 6pm. Around 8pm Amaia started to grump and grizzle, then the farting started, followed by the burping and screaming. The ill effects finally subsided enough to let her sleep at 3-19am. Nice as it was, it just wasn't worth the fall-out :-(

WHAT A PAIN IN THE ARSE WEEKEND

André was having the three big kids this weekend. I was looking forward, therefore, to advancing leaps and bounds on our book-moving project given we only had a two year old and a newborn to look after! I quickly rushed to ASDA before getting the biggies from school on Friday. With Anna and Amaia in a baby/toddler trolley and Léon walking by my side I started to slowly tick off the items on my list. It was about 2-25pm. Suddenly I realized I didn't have till 3pm to shop because Marcel gets out early on a Friday. I picked up Léon and threw him in the trolley along with my shopping and started running round like a mad thing. A trolley full of goods and three kids is quite heavy to corner with at high speed. My back is still a little delicate given it is only 5 weeks since I had a baby elephant but I got to the checkout with five minutes to spare.

I threw the shopping in the car and lifted in kids 3, 4 and 5 then zoomed round to the high school just in time for kid 1, then down to the primary for kid 2. On the way home I heard a crash and realized my box of eggs, thrown precariously into the boot, had upended and smashed. On arrival at the house I found my parents had dropped by for coffee so didn't want to dwell on mopping up the car. I ran out quickly with a pack of baby wipes. Three eggs had smashed and run from the boot, between the two back seats and under the three middle seats. I couldn't be bothered opening the side doors so stretched in as far as I could, hurting my back a second time. Eggy disaster was minimised.

I came in and went to change Amaia's nappy. My back, I thought, gave a little twinge. By an hour later I couldn't sit down. My bum/back/tail bone was in agony. I have been unable to sit, stand, turn in bed all weekend. Moving books has been impossible, in fact sitting drinking a coffee has even been a complete 'pain in the arse'. What a bloody nightmare! I have no idea what I've done or whether tomorrow will be any better :-(

I DIDN'T MEAN GIANT COOKIES!

Why is it you need to spell everything out to kids? You ask them to fill the dishwasher, they fill it but don't switch it on.. You buy them a laundry basket for their room and they fill it (once you've pointed out its existence) but it still doesn't occur to them to bring their basket down to the washing machine. You tell them to go make cookies, because they're finding being off school boring, but unless you state expected dimensions, you find they've thrown together cookies bigger than your oven using so much Belgian chocolate, you need to take out a second mortgage!

MEDICINE INSTRUCTIONS

Don't you love medicine instructions? We've all had the cough mixture for four year olds that warns them not to drive or operate machinery if the medicine makes them drowsy. Poor Amaia (aka the mushroom factory) has been suffering terribly from oral thrush since she was a few days old. We're on our third bottle of Nystan suspension and she's only five weeks old. I had to laugh though when I read the label. Unlike the other two bottles where the pharmacist had typed 1ml four times a day, this week's bottle says: 1ml four times a day, shake well before use, finish the course, keep in mouth for at least two minutes before swallowing! Now I know at five weeks Amaia is more advanced than she was at three or four but I am not sure she is able to follow this advice to the letter just yet!

DID I MOVE HOUSE?

When I moved in with Thomas he had a large library of books. To frighten anyone who knows me, he had about six times as many books as I'd acquired after nearly fifteen years working in publishing with a subsidised bookshop. When his one man flat became a five person flat overnight about 80% of his books were moved into storage. When we moved to the house, I moved in my books. All my books plus 20% of his are the books you've all seen in our house over the last four years. They take up two whole walls of the TV room, one wall of the living room, one in the hall, one wall in the office and two shelves in the kitchen. Added to that each child has a shelf or two of kids' books in his or her room. Our storage room ran out at the weekend :-( so we went to retrieve the seventeen large boxes of books (see this photo for the size of one), all my old paper photos from 20 years with a professional slr (you can imagine - if I start scanning now, I may fit them in before I die), and all his papers (approximately ten large shoe boxes). With six boxes still off-site, we have lost access to the living room and dining room already. Thomas now needs to go through these and pile them into the categories: keep downstairs, keep in the loft, give to charity, sell, bin or burn, wrap up as Xmas presents to be given until 2050! I can't help because they aren't mine, so this needs to be fitted in after work, meaning it will potentially take weeks. Of course I already live in dread of where the 'sell' pile will be stored while the countless obscure tomes fester on Amazon for the rest of eternity. The loft pile is also an issue given Thomas hasn't floored the loft yet :-\ We can, of course, no longer have guests other than the odd individual who can be given a coffee in our TV room. We certainly can't have anyone stay over as the living room futon is no longer visible at all. Walking through my house makes me want to run and hide and cry. The health visitor is likely to start treating me for post-natal depression, I am becoming so unstable - not realizing it is post-book-retrieval depression instead! I have found one way of helping out. I went through our current shelf yesterday and threw out 80% of my own reference books to make space for his stuff. I figure anything non-fiction can be googled these days. If I never see another reference book, it won't upset me. But one question does puzzle me... before Thomas met me, how long was he planning to live to actually get through all this crap? 180 years maybe?

CAN HAIR LIKE THIS BE A FAMILY TRAIT?

Marcel, Charlotte, Léon and myself have no problem getting up in the morning and just 'going'. We can have a shower if we're in the mood, or simply dash out if we've got washed the night before. Anna on the other hand looks like this every single morning in life so needs to wash her hair before facing the world. I assumed things would improve as her hair got longer and heavier but it is actually getting more unmanageable! Thomas has the same problem, despite being bald his hair does this too and can actually stand on end as soon as it reaches about 3mm in length. And worryingly, he assures me it was much worse when he was a long-haired 70s child. I already have my fingers crossed that Amaia has followed our side of the family or we'll have to fit several showers into the morning school routine from age 4 :-(

CAN YOU AFFORD KIDS?

I've been tidying and changing bedrooms around in my house since Hogmanay. While moving Marcel I found the shoes we bought him for my wedding just less than a year ago. They are size 5 (38). He threw them downstairs and they happened to land beside his current school shoes which are size 9 (43). Imagine how many pairs of shoes that means I've had to buy in the last eleven and a half months (with almost no money)! And then multiply that by five!

GORDY BOO 'BIKED' MY TOES!

Anna has been amusing us linguistically recently. She has taken to inventing her own very expressive verbs. It started on Xmas day when her cousin Gordon got a new bike. Hampered by the subzero weather, he was trying it out in the hall in his flat as Anna walked out of the dining room. As he ran her over she indignantly wailed Gordy Boo biked my toes! This week another yell was heard from the dining room, this time in our own house. She walked into the kitchen holding her hand aloft crying No-no (her name for Léon) doored my fingers! As a lexicographer, I can't wait for the next instalment of Anna's dictionary of verbs :-)

DEALING WITH TERRORISTS

One thing I have learned over the years is the way to deal with these angelic little terrorist trolls when they decide they'd rather you held them all day than spent time doing dishes, washing clothes and the likes. Although this little cherub is more than happy for me to break my back wearing her while doing chores around the house, I am still trying to work out exactly how to wear her in this carrier while helping Thomas floor the loft. Having her on my front and crawling around isn't ideal, and she gets in the way of both the hammer and the screw driver. I guess I need to stick to painting ceilings for the next few weeks!

WHEN TO EDIT?

Thomas and I often look at Photoshop Disasters. I am often amazed at the quality of the things some news media publish and momentarily consider giving up the day job to become a full-time photo editor. Many people overlook the simplest rules when editing digital photos such as colour blending, duplication, failing to remove all the evidence, the symmetry rule, removing too much, plain stupidity etcetc
I have to say the one they uploaded on my birthday made me smile - how was this picture created and when did it become simpler to go to all this trouble rather than simply taking an actual photo of an air stewardess in front of a plane at your local airport anyway? Does no one ever stop and analyse that?

ESKIMO KISSES

When I was little my Dad used to call rubbing noses Eskimo kisses. The other day the kids were kissing and hugging and Thomas asked if they knew how to rub noses instead - instead of rubbing their noses together as we intended, they each rubbed their own nose with their hand - it was very cute!

AMAIA

Amaia has followed in all her siblings' footsteps this week by getting onto BBC Scotland's photo page. Awwwwh!

APPLE

This is really amusing - especially if you aren't Apple's greatest fan.

GLAD TO ESCAPE INSULAR BRITAIN

I decided to watch the news tonight on TF1 while feeding Amaia. I had seen the UK news so knew what was going on in Europe... or did I? The French news told me in great detail of the freezing temperatures in every country in Europe except the UK, hitting as low as -32°C in some countries, killing people left, right and centre. I had noticed some Danish friends on facebook moaning about the new wave of cold but this is amazing. Straight away I went onto BBC Europe but there's no mention there. It is like we are cut off from all information pertinent to the whole continent. I am so glad I can speak other languages and therefore escape insular Britain into the news everyone else is hearing.

HOMEMADE PRESERVES

I know rumour has it I am going to be 42 next week, but given I am from the UK, admitting that I have never made jam, marmalade or anything similar in my life does not single me out as terribly odd. One of the first questions my first mother-in-law asked me at 18 was what my favourite jam to make was - I was quite embarrassed to admit I didn't know how to make jam, she dubbed me an 'intello' thereafter, and never revised that opinion! Thomas decided yesterday to make marmalade (see here on the left), (which seems to have become whisky marmalade somewhere along the line) and I watched. It actually seemed easy! I mentioned how much I like lemon curd and he dug me out a recipe. I decided to rope in Charlotte as a scapegautier in case I failed miserably! So today after school Lots and I made our first batch of lemon curd (here on the right) and it's bloody brilliant - so good I am tempted to try lime or orange curd tomorrow! That's next Xmas sorted - small homemade preserves for everyone :-)

A PROBLEM WE DON'T SEE OFTEN IN SCOTLAND

Since the end of the cold spell that lasted from the week before Xmas till Amaia's birth, I have started to notice a problem we don't often encounter here in the west of Scotland. Our little Scottish 'palm trees' are dying! These more exotic trees usually survive our winters that don't often go below -6°C, but this year we hit -9°C and all these poor trees are starting to droop.

QUALITY, STYLE AND BEAUTY

My major garlic press rant of last autumn did not go unnoticed! When Amaia was born last week, Sabine dropped by with a cuddly bear and a beautiful new garlic press for her and I must say it is the epitome of quality, style and beauty! It is so sturdy you could crush a car in it, so shiny you could replace your favourite ornament with it and so non-British in its functionality I feel almost like I've moved somewhere Mediterranean! It's so perfect I need all the kitchen tools in the set! Thanks Sabine! Amaia can't wait for her first taste of pureed carrot (with added garlic!)

ITALIAN DESIGNER-LABEL COATS

With five kids and no lotto cash in the bank, designer clothes isn't something I can allow myself to indulge in. Coats are usually something I buy on sale at the end of winter and keep ten years. I've never had an exciting coat, only a standard, functional, dark-coloured one. Last Xmas my in-laws were over from Denmark. The pound hadn't long fallen by 35% against the Danish currency. Out shopping, my mother-in-law was skipping along telling me that shopping in Scotland felt more like you'd expect in India or somewhere similar. When she saw the price of coats in an Italian designer shop had been reduced by 50% and factored in the new exchange rate, she insisted on buying me one. I didn't put up much of a fight! People who usually don't notice my clothes started declaring coat-envy! I felt a million dollars in my beautiful purple coat. I considered putting in my will that I should be buried in my coat, given I was never likely to have another expensive coat. This winter I was pregnant so didn't get to wear my beloved coat until this week. I happily put it back on yesterday. What happened to your coat? Thomas asked while we were out walking... what did he mean? I took it off. Half of my coat has faded to a pale pink where it has been in the light in our hall, the other half is still purple. My coat is ruined! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaah! I guess I need to go back to being the girl with the coat no one envies :-(

CHASING WILD GEESE

When Amaia was born last week, the paediatrician discharging her wanted me to have her hips checked as he suspected a minor problem. He wrote in her notes that she was to be checked at Yorkhill by ultrasound when she reaches six weeks. When she was three days old a letter turned up inviting her for a hip scan today. How efficient... With Marcel and Lots at school we loaded the three wee ones into the car and set out for the hospital. This was made all the more stressful by Anna being on her second day of potty training, and so being nappiless at the very time of the afternoon she often falls asleep if taken on a car trip! They scanned Amaia on arrival and agreed the hips seemed both shallow and immature. I was then asked her age (given she's big enough to be six weeks). When I replied that she was born last week, they sent us home again telling us she was too young to be checked and asking us to return when she turns six weeks! I just love all these NHS goose chases I seem to end up on thanks to my kids! I wonder where I can apply to have my petrol refunded in the meantime?

TEN DAYS OLD

I know I am biased but isn't my mini-troll just beautiful? :-)

POOR BABY

One of the things newborns seem to be prone to is oral thrush. Obviously the problem with that is that it is easily transferred to the mother too as the baby suckles, leaving the mother's breasts in the same painful state as the baby's tongue. Though all of my babies have developed this to some extent in the first days of life, Amaia definitely has the worst case by far. From a distance you'd swear she already had teeth, her mouth and gums are so white and furry. Fortunately after a day of her on Nystan suspension and me on Daktarin gel, things seem to be starting to die down just a little. Soon I'll be able to feed her without my eyes watering!

ALL THE BABY BUCHANANS

After Amaia's birth last week, we had to take a new photo of Granny and Pumpa with all their grandchildren just to keep things up to date. As two only children themselves, I doubt they were expecting to have this many grandchildren!

THE CRUELTY OF NATURE

As I said on 11-01-10, sleeping on my stomach is one of the pleasures I miss most when I am pregnant. The first night after having a baby I lie there on my (wobbly) stomach feeling all is right with the world again. Of course, what I always forget is that the very next day, when the milk comes in you can no longer sleep on your stomach because your boobs hurt too badly! Waaaah. Nine days on and I am still too sore :-(

BIRTH AGAIN

When I had Anna back in 2007, I blogged the birth after a few days as a reminder to myself and Anna herself in years to come. Unfortunately I wasn't a blogger back when I had the others - though maybe soon I should note those down as best I can remember them too before time takes its toll...
The last month has been hard. Because of the size of Baked as we'd all come to know her, I reached breaking point physically about the end of November. I was still working and just reaching my laptop was sore. I was exhausted but needed to finish two months work in one to allow myself to go on maternity leave on 11 December. Working from home with no childcare for a two year old means working when no kids are about. Thomas was working with New Zealand which was helpful because it meant he could take off mornings and work till late in the evening. That allowed me to work mornings and after Marcel went to bed at 10pm. Working till midnight or one every day for the last month is not to be recommended but needs must.
When I visited the hospital on December 2, it was insinuated that they planned to induce me on December 30, so I fixed that goal in my mind.
By Christmas walking around a supermarket had become too painful with such a big baby. Eating wasn't fun, sleeping impossible. For the first time in all my pregnancies I was finding it hard to stay positive.
When nothing happened at the end of December and they threatened to leave me till the 23rd of January before inducing me I was really depressed. Eventually I simply became resigned and set my focus further in the future to get through.
Labour started and stopped on New Year's Day and after that I lay awake most nights exhausting myself unnecessarily.
Finally on 10-1-10, I went to hunt out the dreaded Southern in preparation for my hospital transfer. I sat up late that night on the computer blogging, editing photos, reading news and went to bed around 1am.
At 4 I woke up with a contraction. There was nothing new there as this had happened most nights for a month. Once again I knew I would sit and time potential twinges for an hour or two, then go to sleep once I had established there was no pattern. I had a contraction again at 4-15 and one at 4-30. They then went to ten minute intervals... I was following the pattern of January 1st all over again.
When they were still doing this at 5, I decided to waken Thomas who contacted mum and dad to babysit the other four. The only request they'd made was that I shouldn't get them up at 4am - oops.
I rang triage and no one answered for ages. Had the hospital shut two days early? Eventually a yawning man said Hellllllooooo? I was almost convinced I had rung a private house but I guess they just weren't busy because he seemed to know what I was talking about.
Driving in at 6-30am before rush hour took just 16 minutes - in which time I had six contractions. Whoever put speed bumps around the car park of a maternity hospital has never been in labour!
We parked at the door and it took another two contractions to get into reception. Triage, which had been a disaster last time round (and hadn't existed for my first three) was a delight. There was no insistence on monitoring and given my previous history, the friendly nurse simply sent me straight to delivery after ascertaining I was already 3-4cm.
Unfortunately she told me I had to have this put in my hand as I was at a great risk of losing too much blood. This was to become the most unpleasant part of the next 24 hours.

I walked up to deliveries and met a middle-aged Irish midwife who took down all my details but was going off duty at 7am. She handed over to a younger Chinese midwife who was introduced to me as 'Hughie'. Despite my pain, I had to laugh and think of what my old Gramps might have said had he lived to hear the story of Shug the Chinese midwife! (It turned out to be Hiu-ying, by the way!)
I was told the registrar would have to be present at my birth because of "the high risk of caesarean, shoulder dystocia or severe bleeding". Funny all these high risks that seemed to be stamped on my notes but which had never been mentioned to me!
If truth be told, I have over the years heard many stories along the lines - I was told my baby was going to be 9lbs but it turned out to be 7lbs etc. I really didn't want a caesarean so refused it, but deep down I was also convinced they were probably wrong about the baby I was carrying. Yes, I could feel it was big but not drastically bigger than usual, not 25% bigger. I had already mentally written the blog rant about their threats of a near ten pounder being complete nonsense once the baby had weighed in at 8lb 4! I was wondering where all these potential high risk stories in my notes were coming from.
From 7 to 8 I tried kneeling and using gas and air. After 8 I tried standing by the bed but didn't last too long. Thomas was wonderful as he was last time. Having had the girls with his support, I wonder now how I ever got through birth alone, as André was never present at the births claiming to be too squeamish to cope. I had no idea how much the support of a loved one can help get you through even the worst pain.
By 8-30 I was back on the bed and sitting, becoming less and less aware of my surroundings. I heard 'Shug' mention something about expecting the baby to arrive within the hour. I forced my eyes open and glanced at the clock: 8-45am. I could hear Hughie and Thomas chatting but I wasn't there any more, trying simply to breathe through each contraction. Hughie asked if she could break my waters as they hadn't gone naturally. I was beyond caring. She told me I was now 7cm dilated. She also asked if a student doctor could come in as he was sitting his finals soon - by that point in labour they could invite in the whole bus queue from outside the hospital - you really don't care!
As soon as she broke my waters dead on 9am, I needed to push, despite not being 10cm. Within 3 minutes her very big head was out. Unlike Anna though, she stopped at this point and didn't shoot past the midwife. Maybe she was slightly bigger than Anna (who had been 3.4kg/7lb8) but one more push and she was out all the same. My blog rant was reappearing in my head as I managed to give birth in just 5 hours without drugs to the baby who needed a caesarean 2 weeks earlier. They weighed her... 4.35kg/9lb10! Jesus! They were actually right! Shit! Would I have signed up to that drug-free had I known??? Probably, because I am a stubborn cow, but wow - I felt like superwoman!
As I came round, a young man, the medical student stood looking almost as gobsmacked as a first time dad - I hope he doesn't think that is the norm when it comes to childbirth! I was awake enough to watch Thomas cut the cord and hand me Baked, the still nameless child. For the next half hour the midwife tried to deliver the placenta which was proving much trickier than the baby and I was more than relieved when it finally came away. Baked was covered in meconium, which made me worry a bit, as I'd heard horror stories of babies inhaling meconium during birth but no one around me seemed to be panicking.
I went for my last bath in the post delivery bathroom in the QMH and felt vaguely sad knowing that no matter what the future holds, I will never be back there again and then joined Thomas in an attempt to finally whittle down the long-standing shortlist of names for the Baked Bean.

11-01-09, 11-01-10, 11-01-11?

It just occurred to me that on 11-01-09 Thomas asked me to marry him, and on 11-01-10 we had Amaia... I wonder what fun plans he has in store for me for 11-01-11!? I must keep it free just in case :-)

SPOOKILY UNCHANGED

I had a baby in the Queen Mum's on Monday. Of course, the press has been full of Queen Mum's stories all week because it was shutting down on Tuesday. Thomas spotted this story. Doesn't the setting looked eerily familiar despite the 46 year gap?

I had been ranting all last week about the QMH shutting and the possibility of being forced to hunt out the Southern General at a minute's notice while in labour, having never even visited anyone in that hospital, but now that the stress of last week is over, I have had time to reflect on why I wanted to make it to the QMH.

Obviously I had had all my kids there so I know the place inside out and many of the staff. I can find my way around in the dark! They had all my ante-natal notes, so of course it was sensible, but it was much more than that really.

Sentimentally, the QMH is the first memory I have in my life. I was taken up the green, buttercup-covered hill in a part of the city I didn't yet know but which was to become home 20 years later, one day in June 1971 carrying a toy lamb to visit my new baby brother. The weather was beautiful, the hill and flowers are so vivid, it could be yesterday. I remember the wards and beds. I remember being with my dad. In fact, ironically, the only two things I don't remember of that day are my mum and baby brother. I didn't want my first ever memory to shut down!

Then there are my own kids. I remember which room each one was born in and every minute of every labour. You don't want want those memories to shut down either.

After my first baby was born I joined the QMH breast-feeding group. We met every week, though none of us really needed the breast-feeding support, we all needed the moral support. I met Karen, Cynthia and Siobhan - friends for life... breast friends. We had more babies together, and more tea and cake. We've helped each other through the highs and lows of life ever since - all our divorces and new lives. That nostalgia was dying too with the QMH.

I realized after the dust of the last week's stress settled that what you need when you are having a baby is to feel at home because you are so vulnerable and the QMH to me was a kind of home - like a home-birth with all the trimmings - someone else to clean up and all the medical back-up you might need should your 10lb baby become stuck at birth. Even the revolting school dinners they served after you had the baby had a way of tasting acceptable in all their stodginess. My last meal there - of two wet beef burgers, heavy mash and over-boiled cabbage will live with me forever!

Shame on you whoever decided to close it :-( Now I will need to give serious consideration to calling a halt to my childbearing years!

And to celebrate the QMH years, here's a photo of Anna, who was born there and Amaia, one of the very last QMH babies leaving it together about 5 hours before they closed for good :-(

BINARY BABY?

I mentioned on facebook last week that the Maths nerd in me was secretly hoping for a New Year's day baby simply because of the binary date 1-01-10. Of course Ne'erday came and went and Baked didn't, and of course hanging around until the next binary date (10-01-10) was out of the question... or was it? Apparently not :-( Given tomorrow is also a binary date 11-01-10, I guess I have to pin all my hopes on that because I sure am not prepared to wait until 1-10-10!

OUTDOORS IN THE SNOW

I know I have ranted this till I'm blue in the face but I am still annoyed! I remember from my childhood that snow days in the playground were the highlight of the year... snowballs, slides, snowmen, freezing toes, teachers shouting at you to be sensible as you tried tobogganing down the school's front playground sitting on your schoolbag or a large textbook. I can still hear the squeals of joy, and the odd cry of a kid who'd hurt an arm or leg. Charlotte has just gone to bed moaning about how this weather is getting her down on school days. We've been back at school a week now and we haven't been allowed out once! she grumped. Council policy is to keep all primary kids indoors sitting on their seats during all breaks and lunchtimes when the playground isn't ice and snow-free in case they get sued when little Jack and Sophie fall over and sprain a wrist. Stop ruining our kids' lives with this Health and Safety shite and let them run about like we used to. Kids aren't meant to be glued to seats doing crosswords while the blue sky and snow beckon outside.

WHAT'S THE OBSESSION WITH FARMVILLE?

Maybe I am not one to judge, given I have never played it but I am seriously beginning to wonder about the kids' current obsession with Farmville on Facebook. At Hogmanay I had arranged to take them to their aunt and uncle overnight with all-night partying and the works. Already a sleepover there is their favourite thing so a New Year one is fun with bells (no pun intended) on.
Are you ready Marcel? I asked around 7pm. He looked vaguely panicked and exclaimed... But I have sixty-seven poinsettias to harvest at 10pm... oh, do you think Derek will lend me his computer for ten minutes?
Sixty-seven poinsettias???? You are a 12 year old boy, you shouldn't even know what a poinsettia is!
Then tonight, Charlotte burst in on me in the bath.
I've done something really stupid! she announced. Oh dear... What? I wondered... but before I could ask, she too was worrying herself silly that she had planted a batch of two-day crops at 3-10pm on Saturday and could I bring a charged laptop to the school gate tomorrow at 3pm when I pick her up and she'll try to run out by 3-09pm to harvest them.
Have they lost their marbles?

THE COLD 'SNAP'

I have an issue with the terminology being used all over the media now. Twice this morning I have heard the cold 'snap' mentioned - once on the politics show with Andrew Marr, once by the Prime Minister, the useless Mr Brown. To me, a snap is a very short period. When the snow and ice have been on the ground for a month, the term 'snap' is out of place and needs to be replaced by something more appropriate such as 'winter'' or 'period'', even if those sound less idiomatic in English.

MOVING HOUSE

Léon had an appointment at Yorkhill on Friday morning. Of course, I had printed out photos of his latest spot and eczema problems and typed up notes for my parents to take with them, while Thomas and I were in the Queen Mum's having Baked... Funnily enough, Baked had other ideas (this is becoming a leitmotif) so Thomas and I managed to take Léon ourselves :-(
Leaving Yorkhill, we passed the Queen Mum's of course and had difficulty negotiating all the removal lorries parked outside, being filled with beds and chairs! This is becoming a nightmare. The hospital is now shutting in two days and is seemingly stripped of all furniture and Baked is still cosy inside. My last baby, when she decided to show up, only gave me a couple of hours to get to hospital, which was hard enough without icy snow, going to the hospital I know well. This time in labour (if we ever get there) we'll be scraping the car for half an hour and then trundling around the South Side to find a maternity unit we've never even visited, finding its car park and admissions department (assuming I can find their phone number). I guess we need to go on an expedition this afternoon to familiarize ourselves with the area despite the weather and advice not to go out driving unless necessary.
Obviously if I had had any inkling Baked would be late, I would have registered at the other hospital originally. It seemed sensible to book in to the hospital that holds all my gynecological notes, rather than hoping they'd be transferred during my pregnancy. Another friend who is having a baby at the new place has just waited nearly 5 months for her notes from a different Glasgow hospital to arrive on site! Ironically, I now find myself in a situation where my notes are stamped with all sorts of special indications including their worries about Baked's size, recommended caesareans, Anna's quick delivery, my age and rhesus status etc and the Queen Mum's will box them up for sending at some point on Tuesday when they close, and send them with everything else from the hospital. I don't reckon the chances of them having them are high from Wednesday :-( And believe me, at 10cm dilated with a 4.5 or 5kg baby you are in no fit state to sit down and fill them in on your gyno and previous delivery history for an hour during labour.
This is turning into a real trial for the nerves and I'm usually a calm person!

FROZEN WATERFALL

I have been housebound for about a week, unable to drag this baby anywhere other than ante-natal appointments. That and the raging hormones are turning me into a crabbit basket-case, so today after sleeping most of the morning again, I decided that I couldn't completely miss this stunning weather. Unsure as to whether I could actually manage it, I set out with the intention of driving to Rouken Glen, walking once round the pond, checking out the snowy waterfall and returning home. On arrival, I was surprised to find no pond. I have often seen it frozen over the years, but never so frozen as to be covered in snow and footprints. When I finally arrived at the waterfall, a stunning sight awaited. For only the second time I can remember since first visiting Rouken Glen in 1973, the waterfall was 90% frozen, as if trapped in motion. This was well worth the physical struggle, and actually cheered me up for the best part of the afternoon.

A WEATHER RANT

I know I'm hormonal at the moment so please make allowances... Why are people so crap at driving in the snow in this country? I guess for the first few days the odd, inexperienced driver might have had an excuse, but three weeks in, I still can't even do the school run without seeing numpties coming out of every other junction revving so fast their wheels are spinning on the ice and their back ends are zooming at your face at some crazy speed. Add to that the 4x4 drivers who assume because they have the right tyres for the job, it is fine for them to sit on your tail leaving only a ten centimetre gap. Gimme strength! It isn't hard - just do everything in slow motion, and at a distance and you'll get there (numpties permitting, of course)!

TIME'S FLYING - THIS MUST BE FUN...

It hardly feels like a week since the great c-section stand-off, but I was dragged back in today for another check-up. My grumpy, hormonal mood was not improved by them only having 9am appointments left at short notice. Anyone who knows Glasgow, knows the hospital is 20 minutes away at any time other than rush hour when you need to count over an hour. Factor in the council's running low on salt and grit, the snow and freezing temperatures, the fact that this is everyone's second day back at work after Xmas, and the parking problems, I figured it could double to two hours, and we might still be late.
Yesterday I was so exhausted carrying around Baked that I slept half the day - not one of my usual tendencies, I have to say. I even forewent a photoshoot in fresh snow with blue skies simply because I couldn't move. Now that should worry anyone who knows me! I managed to fill the dishwasher once and do two of the school runs, nothing else.
So off we trundled in the dark having scraped the ice off the car at 7-40am only to find the motorway had been gritted and no bugger could be bothered with work. We got to the hospital in less than half an hour - an achievement which should have been impossible even on the sunniest August morning when everyone's kids are off school. Poor Pudge and Bits had been dumped sleepy and shellshocked on their equally sleepy, shellshocked grandparents before 8am.
The same midwife as last week shouted my name - oh no! Not another half hour caesarean battle? I wanted to cry, I was so tired. She did my check up and asked if I wanted a membrane sweep. Now there's an interesting verb... no one who has ever had a membrane sweep actually wants a membrane sweep. Given I have only had one once before and it hadn't worked (the baby had waited another 6 days), it took all my strength to agree. So there I was lying half naked with some woman I had been fighting last week patting and stroking my baby's head from the inside. Oh the dignity of pregnancy!
After that she asked if I'd like to book a hormonal induction for some time after the Queen Mum's shuts down on Wednesday next week. Hmmm, still no mention of the caesarean she was trying to sell me last week. It was curiously inconsistent that last week Baked was so big I needed an instant c-section but she was now trying to book me an induction for a date nearly two weeks after the due date when she was meant to measure 4.5kg. They don't even want to see me again before the 18th (unless I go into labour), by which time Baked will be 9 days bigger than the 4.5kg threatened, and that day they will start looking into booking an induction. Ho hum.
At this rate I might be the one sharing a birthday with Baked instead of Charlotte!

NO SHARED BIRTHDAY

When I told Lots I was pregnant back in the summer and that the baby was due on 09-01-10, her first comment was that I'd better not have it on her birthday (04-01). Charlotte had officially been due on 09-01-00, so I spent the next few months trying to warn her a shared birthday wasn't completely unlikely. Eventually when quizzed, it turned out she assumed that if Granny had £30 to spend on her birthday, she assumed that if Baked turned up on the 9th, Granny would already have spent the money on Charlotte, but if she turned up on the 4th they'd get £15 each. I tried in vain to point out that with Granny's forward planning, the chances were that whenever Baked was born, Granny was likely to shop for both presents on the same day, but Lots stuck to her guns - after the 4th was fine but on it was totally unacceptable. On the night of the 1st I almost went into labour. By the 3rd I decided the chances of Baked appearing on Lotsie's birthday were even greater than they'd been 6 months earlier so I spent the 3rd preparing Charlotte for the big share. I promised double cakes. I told her of future joint birthday parties as adults, especially given they'd share a round birthday. I told her of the fun of a joint 20th and 30th, even mentioning how thrilled our family friend Caragh had been, when Lots had been born on her 10th birthday. I suggested Baked, Lots and Caragh could potentially have joint a 20th, 30th and 40th party with lots of fun and presents. Charlotte was finally won round to the idea (even if I was yet to mention it to Caragh!) Also given Charlotte was born at 0.44 in the morning, she contented herself in the knowledge that her birthday would more than likely come first. Phew, mission accomplished... so I am looking a bit silly sitting here now at 23-39 on Lots' birthday with Baked still on the inside. I suppose I need to come up with a way of un-selling her the idea tomorrow after school...

BAKED IS NOW TAKING THE PISS :-(

So I woke up at 3-30am exactly with a twinge in the belly. A second one came at 3-45am and a third at 4am... I started trying to psych myself up for the long night ahead and found that surprisingly difficult compared to the previous times, I assume because of the threat of her size...
After 4am things got worse, with contractions at 4-11am, 4-21am, 4-31am, 4-42am, and 4-50am. I was lying still in bed hoping to be able to make it through to daybreak, given de-icing not only our car but also the grandparents' one so they could come and babysit in the middle of the night was no simple task on the coldest night of the year. Factoring in a potential hour of de-icing, remembering my hospital notes are stamped 'Previous precipitous delivery' and adding in colossal Baked's potential to become wedged in my pelvis, thus necessitating the dreaded section, I reluctantly turned round to waken Thomas at 5am. He was fast asleep and didn't respond. I tried again and caught a glimpse of the time... 5-03am... wait a minute, what happened to the 5am contraction? I lay still and watched the clock till 5-20am - nothing, not a sausage. Turning over had completely stopped everything. Back to square one and trying to unpsych myself, I finally fell asleep as the clock hit 6am :-(

THE MATHS OF THE BIG BUMP

And another thing while I'm ranting... I don't get the Maths...
The hospital told me on 2 December that the baby was 3.1kg. The hospital told me on 30 December the baby was 3.7kg. So she grew 600g in 28 days, or an average of 21.4g a day. I have ten days of my pregnancy remaining, supposedly, so I would estimate Baked's birthweight on 9 January to be 3.9kg, not 4.5kg. Can it really be that they expect her to grow at 80g a day from now on, ie four times more than she has grown in the last month????
What a load of nonsense!