Waiting for Lunch...

The service in this establishment is terrible ;-)

Baptiste

Pics courtesy of Bianca, Baptiste's new au pair...





Nice to see he is as cute as ever!

Licking the Spoon

One of the best bits about being a kid and someone making a cake!

A Rant

How hard is it to take a step back and see the ways in which one's behaviour has contributed to the current situation and then take measure to rectify one's behaviour and hence the situation? If I'm to judge by watching Baptiste's parents, it's the hardest freaking thing in the world.

The baby is going through (yet another) difficult-to-get-to-sleep phase. It consists of fake crying at bedtime, calling out for mum and dad from his bed (and they answer, they actually answer him, thus engaging him in quasi-conversation and prolonging his sleepnessnes. Stupid.), and more crying (eventually real after the parents get frustrated and scold him for not sleeping).

It only happens when his mum or dad put him to bed at night. By day, when he's with me, he goes down for his nap like a very good boy and without a word. I could be charitable and attribute this difference in behaviour to the night, but last night it was me who put him to bed and he made hardly a peep. I'm really surprised his parents haven't cottoned onto his ruses yet. No wonder he's always so naughty with them -- you get what you're willing to put up with.

I think the secret is not to coddle him. The more one coddles, the more he knows he can get away with murder. His parents coddle him. His grandparents coddle him. It seems sometimes as if everyone coddles him except me. And then they have the idocy to say things like, "He only ever listens to Eugenie." Hello!! Wake up!!

Having done all I can possibly do, short of telling the parents how ineffective their parenting is (which I'm not going to do because it's a) rude, b) preachy and c) not condusive to any actual change for the better), my only other recourse is to wear earplugs, have a couple glasses of whiskey and wait until tomorrow. By then, by dint of some miracle (the miracle being me consistently punishing the child if he is naughty and rewarding him when he is good) he will have metamorphosed into someone completely different, a child who is helpful and obedient, albeit clingy at times and often unable to play independently.

Until 6pm, when his parents come home, and he starts to whine, refuse to eat his dinner, fake cry and generally touch all the forbidden things in which he seems to have no interest during the day. And they will react passive-aggressively and the whole cycle will start over. Woo fucking hoo.

End of rant.

Postscript: It's possible that in some twisted way, they actually like when he's naughty. When he's naughty he doesn't do what he should, and instead cries and wants to be cuddled. I can see how in some twisted way, a disobedient but affectionate child could be quite good for the ego, one could say, "He loves and misses me so much, that he acts like this."

At least, one could say it for the first half hour or so. After two or three hours of it, when one has to go to work in the morning, all that neediness suddenly isn't so great and one snaps and yells, "BAPTISTE! THAT'S ENOUGH!! EVERY NIGHT YOU MAKE SUCH A FUSS!!" [cue crying, or intensified crying from child].

A firm "No. Naughty. Bedtime," within the first two minutes of this bollocks would have nipped it in the bud. Of course, the catch is, the firm and swift command has to be backed up by other firm and swift commands when with the child at any time, and all of THAT has to be backed up by consistent positive and negative reinforcement, all of which is a lot of work, when really, humanity as a whole is just a bunch of lazy gits.

The funny thing is, doing it my way actually works out to be LESS work in the long run. A little bit of consistency is SO much easier than having to deal with his tantrums or, worse (yet exactly what Baptiste's parents do), having to throw tantrums of my own in the hopes of eventual obedience.

Playing Dress Ups

A couple of weeks ago Baptiste's creche had a Carnivale, which basically means the kids get dressed up in costumes, they play games (well, I suppose games different to the games they normally play) and they eat lollies and cake. Baptiste's costume was an International Red Cross doctor -- a good choice because a) it was a fairly easy to make costume for his parents and b) he's visited the doctor often enough to know how to pretend to use a stethoscope, needle and thermometre (though with babies when you take their temperature, you put the thermometre up their bottoms... which of course Baptiste tried to do with his toy version!)

Potty time!

It's not a sufficiently traumatic childhood if someone, somewhere, doesn't take a cute photo of you on the toilet!

Ahh, kids...

They're a lot of work and more often than not, pains in the asses. But when they're really young and unjaded, they just don't hold anything back at all, especially the good stuff. After my three week absence, Baptiste (the boy I'm looking after in France) found his nounou had come back to play with him. I don't think I've ever seen anyone as unashamedly happy to see me, ever.

Bad Day

What are the chances of:

1. Me going to bed very late last night
2. The baby waking up at 6am on the same day that
3. I'm supposed to take him playgroup, which is a 25-minute walk away, however,
4. Playgroup is closed today, resulting in a 25-minute walk back home because
5. His mother didn't check the opening times of the facilty thoroughly.

Well, of today, the chances of all five things happening are 100%.

I am SO tired...

Doin' It For The Kids

Images courtesy of www.chantastic.net & www.tonya.me.uk




When I was about seventeen, and for a good few years after, I yearned and longed for a baby. It was so strong, that I actually felt it as a physical sensation. I didn't question why. Biological imperative.

A little later, I decided there were so many idiots in the world that it was my duty to put at least a couple of non idiots (ie my progeny) into it. Egotistical. And uncertain -- just because a child is raised by me it doesn't mean it will think and behave like me (I sure as hell don't think or behave like my parents, what a blessing that is!).

Later still, I thought a baby would be a symbol of commitment I had to whoever I had the baby with. Illogical and selfish. A baby is a person, not a certificate of achievement. And parents decide to separate all the time, regardless of the children. The best symbol of commitment I can make to a partner is to behave in a committed manner on an ongoing basis.

And there are other factors at work on men and women contemplating, or unwillingly thrust, into parenthood, though they may affect me less (or more). Social expectations. The desire to have a little doll to play with and show off to others. Loneliness. Distraction.

Once you get past all of that (I wonder if we ever truly do) why on earth do people have babies? Is there are really decent and unselfish reason for having one?

And there are so many reasons for not...

It's essentially inviting a stranger to live with you for twenty or more years. And as you get to know them, you may or may not like them (what a blow it would be to raise your child and at the end of it realise that although you love them, you don't actually like them very much). Children come fully equipped with their own personality at birth, and maybe you can teach and shape them a little, but they have their own preferences and are capable of making their own decisions far earlier than we think or care to admit.

And once we've had a child (I'm now speaking on behalf of women) it's all downhill -- our selfish DNA knows that it's propagated itself and that slow decay towards death speeds up just ever so.

And it's expensive. And frustrating. And SO time consuming!!

The stage of life I'm in at the moment, I know I'm simply too selfish to want to be a parent.

And I know that my train of thought will change more or less the instant I decide that I do want to be a parent, after all.

Day Trippin'

The family and I visited Moustiers Saint Marie yesterday to have lunch at a nice little restaurant, make the steep ascent up to the chapel and then drove a little while away to the lake and gorge, where I was able to immerse myself in a large body of water for the first time in six months and then we all took a boat ride up the gorge. A really active and lovely day out (my legs were protesting somewhat this morning).

Baptiste Repaux

The little boy I'm looking after in France =)

Devenir

Devenir is French for "to become".

I used to feel guilty for always wanting to become something other than what I currently was, or to go somewhere other than where I currently was. Why couldn't I just be content?

I've recently stopped feeling guilty about it and have just tried to accept the fact.

Baptiste, (the little boy I'm looking after in France) is one year old. He has loving parents, an attentive (if somewhat bossy) nounou (that's me), food , shelter, lots of toys and more clothes than you can poke a stick at. What more could he possibly want? Why, to become something else, namely, like the adults (ah child psychology). If we read, he wants to look at what we're reading. He doesn't want his own books. He wants our books specifically. He wants to eat like us, drink like us, and close his the door of his room when he plays with his toys (like us)(I find this last one very amusing. At the moment it's supposed to be punishment if he's put in his room with the door closed. Soon it won't be).

A one year old boy longs to be something other than what he is. It's a survival trait -- because of this, he learns new skills and experiences new things. Human nature.

So, at 28, it's not really unusual or unnatural at all that I'm restless at times, that I long for something other than else. It means that I haven't sunk into the sludgy mass of apathy and routine that so often seems to mark adulthood. It means that I'm not ready to lay down and die just yet. It means that I want to live.

All. About. Me.

Ah, the self centred. No matter what the subject starts out as, somehow it always becomes All. About. Me. I have friends with whom the conversation flows, but only if it's about their work, their friends, their love lives, or lack thereof. (The latter irritates me. Fucklessness should be remedied with action or accepted stoically. Repetitive whinging about it, or the women who enable it does nothing). However, if I speak of the same subjects for myself, I get is a disinterested, "Yeah, right." Of course, I am self centred too, but in the battle of self centredness, I lose.

(It's not really such a bad thing, I guess).

Parenthood

I think it must be heart breaking at times to be a parent. To put so much effort and care into something and to have such little, futile control over what they are and what they will become, which is, inevitably, something distant, other and alien from oneself. It's a tough cop.

Lorgues

Images courtesy of www.planeteprovence.com

I'm in France baby!! To be more precise, a small village called Lorgues in Provence, au pairing for Florence, François and their very cute baby boy Batiste. God, I've forgotten how awesome the food in France is. I had a white peach this morning and just about died of tastiness. Not to mention the very delicious meals Flo has been cooking, or the strawberry tart and champagne we had last night ... well although they say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach -- I guess it's one of the ways to my heart too!!