J is for…

Jumping (or lack thereof )

So, some 13 months or so ago my darling daughter finally made her appearance into our little world.

Now we all inherit things from our parents, such is life, and our daughter is no different. Within days of being born she was diagnosed with hip dysplasia – inherited from momma bear.

So within a couple of weeks she’d been fitted for a pavlik harness. Which meant for the first 6 weeks or so her hips were set in place. If I’m honest, she looked like a frog – and still reverts to this default position when she sleeps. So gradually we weaned her out of this velcro contraption until she was free.

Now it’s a year down the line. We are having appointments every 4 months and all is rosy it would seem. Until we get onto the matter of the rest of her life.
No trampolines. No or little time on bouncy castles. And such activities. Anything that places too much pressure on her hips could cause all this progress to evaporate.
This has also caused a slight delay in her ability to walk. Much as she’s getting there, and crawls round like a tazmanian devil. She’s just that little bit behind her peers.

But does she look bothered?



Dad. Out

I is for…


Being ill is rubbish isn’t it? But Atleast as grown ups we can say we feel terrible and do something about it. Take some tablets, make a hot toddy or go to bed. But this isn’t the case for a baby. Ours especially.
We had her in a great routine, starting to sleep in her cot more with nightmares (n is for….!). But now we’ve inherited a needy, clingy, whinge machine. Who at times shows she wants to be her usual happy self. But she just can’t.
Can’t be left alone. Doesn’t know what to do with herself. It’s completely knocked her routine out, just as we get over all this coughy, coldy, snotty nonsense we get another I. Injections.
Here we go. Back to square 0. I say zero because we’d barely got back to square one.
When we’re I’ll we want sympathy, help and most of all comfort. I guess being a baby is no different. Just the clothes are much smaller.


Dad. Out