Haushaltshilfe

So. Arm wie wir sind, können wir uns es nicht leisten, so verwöhnte Bälger ranzuziehen wie wir welche sind. Tara wird sich ihr Taschengeld erarbeiten müssen, und ab 14 verbringt sie ihre Samstage nach guter englischer Manier in irgendwelchen Büros. Und weil sich früh übt, hat sie auch jetzt schon, mit 4 Monaten, ihre erste Aufgabe im Haushalt zugeteilt bekommen. Ihrem Alter angemessen natürlich:Beim Windelwechseln hält sie ihre Füße hoch. Und das macht sie ganz toll!


Außerdem fungiert sie, außer als Haussonnenschein, Wonneproppen und Liebesapfel, als Familienheizkörper. Wenn wir uns alle abends aufs Sofa kuscheln und Computer gucken, hält Tari uns warm. So sparen wir Heizkosten und können dann anders investieren, z.B. in Neoprenanzüge zum Schwimmen gehen. Die halten das Kind extra warm und bieten verbesserte Grifffestigkeit. Obwohl wir dafür erstmal Schwimmen gehen sollten. Bald sag ich da, vielleicht morgen, vielleicht Montag. Heute wird erstmal geimpft, 3. Runde. Pieks. Aua. Wahwahwah.

Auf eine neue Tischdecke sparen wir auch. Tari macht die alte kaputt. Beim Essen reißt sie fasziniert und hingabevoll an den Zotteln. Das macht aber nichts. Schreiben wir alles auf, wird hinterher vom Erbe abgezogen. Familientradition.

P.S. Neoprenanzüge. Kaufen oder nicht kaufen?
P.P.S. Tara aktuell auf Spanisch und mit Fotos? Hier!

Prize Baby

I admit it. I'm one of those (horrible horrible) mothers who think that their daughter is one of the most precious things in the world. Which she obviously is. So I'm not being unproportionately presumptious when I think that I am doing people a great favour when allowing them to hold my baby girl. There is, in fact, a hierarchy of prizes to be had with Tara:
"Would you like to change her nappy?" - Third prize. Regularly awarded to Jose. I just hand her over and march off without ceremony.
"Would you like to feed her a bottle?" - Lucky you! This prize is not to be had very often (and feeding her a breast is, I'm afraid, not a prize to be had). Also tends to be won by her father when available as it's mostly given away when Mummy makes off to the gym.
"Would you like to bathe her?" - Congratulations! You have just WON the FIRST PRIZE!

Tara's Aunty Claudia, who'd flown over for a long weekend last week, got lucky and won the first prize when I realised that Tara hadn't bathed for longer than I dare admit in public (doesn't time just fly...). It had been a while since she'd last set foot and bum in her tummy tub, and we were pleased to see that it no longer looked like drowning in that bucket was an imminent danger. It hadn't been so long that she didn't remember what water felt like, though, so in she went happily.
Mummy, too, got lucky and got weed on - I wouldn't call it a prize but warm baby pee on your trousers and all over the bed surely is lucky, isn't it? Like breaking glass? In some culture, some superstition, somewhere?

So. Since i've got a few prizes to give away (nappy/bottle/bath), I'll put a question out for all to answer: Is Tara's washcloth piglet edible?



To enter, leave a comment. To win, you actually have to know Tara and where in this world to find us. Please note that in light of current events, however, the order of prizes has been reversed: Since Tara has now had her fortnightly bath, bathing her will have to be relegated to third prize. Tante Claudia spent four days baking cake, which I spent five days eating, and this must have had an effect on my milk and consequently Tara's digestive system as she's gone from doing three poos per day to one poo in 36 hours. First prize is, consequently, a full nappy change, elevated in its status due to increased rarity. Good luck!

Ding-Dong Tara

True to my promise I've tried to tackle some of the house work, with Tara keeping me company and insisting on sitting up, or trying to. It doesn't quite work, neither the house work, nor the sitting up bit, and I keep alternating my focus of attention ironing-Tara-ironing-Tara, while Tara keeps alternating the sides she falls to, left-right-left-right, ding-dong, whaaaaaa!

Congratulations, Mummy!

With Tara over 100 days old, and bottle training going so beautifully well, my gym membership has come off suspension and I've knocked myself out last weekend by jumping straight back into my old routine. I'd quite forgotten how out of date my idea of what I can and can't do is, and have suffered the consequences for the last two days. Straight after the last class I nearly fell down the stairs - my legs just caved in when asked to carry more weight (my own) down to the changing room. Since then I've been barely able to drag myself up and about at home, and had to decide that sliding down the stairs at home on my bum is the nicer option. A very humbling experience, and not at all cool looking, so there is definately no picture!
Tari, meanwhile, is having more fun at home with her dad, and of course she can't quite hold her bottle herself yet, but Jose (other than manipulating her little hands into the right position so he, too, can take cool pictures) is always there to help.

101 D(almatian D)ays, or, Tara, Advanced

If our little girl did not have us on the go most of the time, I'm sure I would have written her a little poem to celebrate her 101st day. As it is, I can only report that in honour of the day, I've toasted her with an accidental drink of milk that she kindly spat right in my mouth as I was trying to kiss her after a meal. Luckily gravity was on my side and Tara did not return the favour of a full feed. To Tara then, and all she has achieved in 101 days:

She started holding things at 10/11 weeks when daddy Jose thought he'd have a go at fun fotos, and offered her his mobile phone - who could say no to that?! When family friends Marc & Kerstin presented her with the irresistible giraffe-duck Ernest a few days later, Tara took to whole hearted duck-throttling, and ernest quickly found his way to her mouth. A most tasty duckling!


Needless to say that now she's got a 'grasp' of gripping, her little hands make it into my hair more often than not, and I would no longer attribute my excessive hair loss to hormonal changes only. Holding on seems an easier job than letting go, for now.




Weight gain is progressing at an excellent rate. I will, some day soom, work out where that baby clinic is, make my way there, and actually have her weighed and measured. For now, all I know for sure is that Tari is getting heavy to hold, especially when we're in town and she once more 'asks' to be carried back home upright because lying in her pram is not half as exciting as looking over peoples' shoulders at all that is going on on New Walk. And since looking over shoulders requires certain head-holding skills, she's obviously been getting much better at those as well!



The books say that her personality should have started to show by now. I'm not sure about that one, though we can tell she has certain pronounced likes and dislikes. The likes are easy enough: food, lots of it, entertainment (daddy is the specialist), being upright and looking at everything. Oh, and she does like to watch the telly! She sits with us at night and stares and stares at the pictures and the sound. Bad habit! Must be nipped in the bud! Especially since we don't have a telly.
Now, her dislikes, in no specific order: putting on her hat, putting on her jacket, being made to lie in a pram, taking her jacket back off. Lack of attention and entertainment are no great fun either.

And, as it had to happen some day and promptly has on day 100, Jose observed that his daughter has finally understood the connection between making sounds commonly known as crying or whingeing, and being picked up and/or being provided more entertainment. Wahwahwhee - pick me up, wheoaaa - look at me, I'm bored, wheeeeheeeheee - No, I didn't mean like this I mean differently!

101 days - Congratulations, Tara!