The grass is greener, and all that jazz.

I look at other mums, and I reckon they've got it made. Their babies sleep longer than Frankie, some even through the night. Their babies don't scream every time they're peeled out of mummy's arms. Their babies sit still for more than 4seconds at a time. It's not that I don't love my child, but my endless baby-comparison-cycle has me questioning - Is the linen really always softer on the other side of the cot? 

I look at the mums around me who somehow manage to do "it all". They make hairdresser appointments, and keep them. They cook organic, sugar-less, salt-less, wheat-less creations from scratch while bub plays happily alone with a trolley full of toys for entertainment. These women can even go away for weekends and leave bubba with the grandparents because (and this point is completely outside my sphere of comprehension) their bub will behave himself and will sleep through the night.

Frankie is healthy, beautiful, and very, very strong. She is 11 months old, and can run. She can push her pram around at the park even when it has its breaks on. I love watching the way in which she learns from the world around her - she is a kinaesthetic learner and understands things best through touch. I love her unconditionally for who she is but sometimes it feels like she is, quite frankly, tougher work than the other kids.

Frankie rarely sits still for a story. Or, for that matter, a nappy change. On a daily basis, like a looped record, I hear myself say to kind strangers who approach Frankie, "It's not you who's made her scream, she's just going through a shy stage right now" (Sometimes I find it easier just to tell people she's sick).

I secretly wish that she'd perform for others the way she does with me some times; I quite literally WILL her to giggle, dance, sing, and kiss like she does for me at home. But Frankie glares at people suspiciously, clings to me, grows silent and stubborn, and at times seems genuinely frightened of others.  And whilst I do get some incredible moments with Frankie on my own, I also find that the majority of my time with her is spent entertaining her. She seems to tire so quickly of the toys she has, and when I leave her she follows me around the house as though the umbilical cord still binds us, and she hasn't quite understood that it was cut 11 months ago.

Sometimes I wonder whether my anxiety is rubbing off on her, but have no way of determining this. All I know is that a very small part of me wishes I could 'trade her in' for a different model - just for a day or two - to see how the other half live.

I'd love to wake up (after 5am for a change) and do my make up or have a shower. I'd love to hear Frankie murmuring contentedly in her bed when she wakes, rather than screaming the house down, and launching herself out of my arms to run around like a crazed chicken. What I'd give for a baby that would allow me 20 minutes alone to prepare her dinner while she pranced about with only her toys for company.

But maybe a "swapsies" to see how the other half live would teach me a thing or two about how lucky I am with my overly-energetic, overly-skeptical child. Maybe the experience would open my eyes to some of the things that I take for granted with Frankie. She eats virtually everything (although, in fairness, she'll eat nothing off a spoon...) She already knows how to tell me when she's doing a wee or a poo, which I think is pretty spectacular*. Perhaps I will find her own quirks and behaviours more adorable, such as her obsession with the electric toothbrush and her fascination with carrying the potty around the house under her arm.

I know that these tough times will pass and that in the not-too-distant future she will be sleeping well, and out of her separation anxiety phase. But this feels like a lifetime away and in the meantime all I can do is ponder whether the grass is greener on the other side, or whether I should stop my pondering and be grateful for the divinely beautiful baby girl I have in my life right now.


*Frankie is virtually always running around our house without a nappy. She tells me when she's going to have a wee by pointing to the ground, and rubbing the spot where the wee is about to fall, and saying "Weh weh". Sure enough, 5seconds after she has done this, she will wee right onto the floor. (Or, unpleasantly, poo.... I really should put her in nappies more often but I love staring at her gorgeous bottom too much!) 

No friends on Ramsey Street

It's 4am and I hear yet another blood-curdling scream. The thick walls of my 1920's apartment provide little defense against the wails of my 8 month old baby. I throw back the covers with a sigh that gives way to a small gasp, as the chill of the winter dawn assaults me. All I can think is, my neighbours must hate me.

We have finally made the move from my parents' home into a place of our own. With our new found independence comes the sudden removal of some of the creature comforts that living with my parents has afforded us. A full home to ourselves, for example, on its own plot of land, detatched from the innocent ears of our neighbours. A home where our baby could cry to her heart's content without the associated stress of waking up the neighbours. Sure, I had to worry about Frankie's effect on my own parents, but it's a lot less of a worry when you factor in the unconditional love that grandparents have for her.

Our new home is - in a word -  petit. It's far smaller by comparison to Frankie's last residence, and there aren't two whole floors of space for her to call her own. Gone is Frankie's entertainment space, her backyard, her front yard, her bedroom and her own private bathroom. Gone is the bath, for that matter! Suddenly Frankie finds herself 'stuck' - easily bored within the confines of our art deco abode.

I'm freaking out that the neighbours are one screaming-fit away from banging down our door and forcefully removing us with the aid of flaming torches and oversized pitchforks. If the relocation of our 8 month old wasn't a traumatic enough an experience on its own, try adding teething to the equation. She's now sporting 3 shiny new teeth, which certainly make her look cuter, but unfortunately doesn't win her any friends on Ramsey Street.

Having learned much over the last few weeks, here are my Top Tips for moving house with a baby

1) Paracetamol can be a lifesavour:
Only you will be able to judge whether your baby is traumatised emotionally by sleeping in a new house, or whether those screams are ones of pain. We tried good old-fashioned comforting to help ease any fears of a scary new house, but after a few hours of getting nowhere, we found paracetamol did the trick. Obviously, make sure it's baby paracetamol and your doctor ok's it first!
2) Stay with them for a while:
If your baby was sleeping reasonably well before the move, you can at least hope they'll return to the good-old-days eventually. Whilst you will tread the line of creating a bad habit for yourself in the future, show your baby you aren't deserting them in this new environment. That just like always, you're here for them. We found the whole "stay in the room with your hand on her tummy" thing worked for us with Frankie. But we have now gotten into the bad habit of bringing her into bed with us at 4am to get her to sleep longer until 6am. Our mistake, I know, but it's better than having her persistantly wake the neighbours at that ungodly hour.
3) Be nice to your neighbours
We didn't have the guts to knock on our neighbours' doors individually and introduce ourselves and our bubba girl, but by now everyone knows we are here. Kind of hard to ignore the pram in the entrance way.... We have, however, gone out of our way to talk to every neighbour we run into when we see them in the communal halls, and offer our apologies for the baby's fitful slumber. Luckily, everyone has been very kind and whilst they have certainly admitted to hearing her through the night, they seem to sympathise with our plight and get on with their own lives. Still, doesn't hurt to be uber nice, and offer them a cup of sugar when they need it in the future!

Wish me luck, as we continue on our mission to getting Frankie settled and secure in her new home.