Eleven Days, Part 3

We have learnt, in the 24 weeks since Emily joined us, that there is only an extent to which you can control life with a baby. Routine is important, but cannot be the be all and end all. Some fluidity is important too. When we tried to keep to a rigid routine, all that happened was that life became hell.

Routine

So instead we have a "pattern" which we keep in mind and attempt to keep to, for Emily's sake. We know that at the moment she naps approximately 3 times a day, one short nap in the morning, a good 2-hour (ish) one in the early afternoon, and sometimes another short one late afternoon. They ebb and flow, but the general pattern is always there. Her feeds are also somewhat predictable. Her bedtime is what we keep to with more determination. She bathes at about 6:30pm, and is asleep by 7pm. When this is not the case, it often results in a meltdown on her part which has her up and screaming until 11pm (something that we wish we'd recognised when she was 2 months old).

So while in Malta, we kept this in mind. Her naps did suffer slightly until she got accustomed to sleeping in her pushchair since we were out most of the day (she usually naps in her cot), but her bedtime remained sacred. More often than not, she was so exhausted from the bit of "swimming" she'd done, that had we wanted to keep her awake we'd not have been able to anyway!

She was asleep by 7pm every night. And on some nights, we transferred her from cot to pushchair (having seen how very deeply she sleeps at night!) and went out for a walk along the promenade with our parents, and there was ice cream to be had in that sweet summer, waterside breeze.



There were a few nights she even slept through. Again, I put it down to the huge amount of stimulation and activity she suddenly had added to her days. And she was loving it!

Wordless Wednesday: Night in with the Girls (& a Baby)

Eleven Days, Part 2

Our 11 days in Malta (our longest visit since we left 5 years ago!), was a hugely successful holiday. Our trips back usually involve us darting from one lunch date to another, followed by a couple dinner dates, allowing us very little swim or chill time, resulting in us needing a holiday once the "holiday" is over.

This time we were determined it would be different. Now that Emily is here, trips to Malta need to be mainly about her spending time with family and some very close friends. We did organise a generic "Meet Emily" party which was a huge success, but after that, our individual time was dedicated to family.

Swimming

We were lucky enough to have access to a private pool this time round, which also helped a huge deal. We were able to relax and enjoy the cool water in the hot sun while also enjoying family.

It was also to be Emily's first swimming experience. We weren't too sure what to expect as she has never quite been a fan of cool water. Her baths are nothing close to the recommended temperature... much, much warmer. I'd even go as far as to say hot.

So I wasn't too sure how well cold water would go down. But we were determined. She is Maltese after all, she can't not swim?! So we excitedly got her all dressed up in her full-body swimsuit, chuckled at how ridiculous and yet cute she looked, lathered her in sunblock, blew up her Zoggs ring, and pink fluffy towel in hand, headed towards the water.

Toes in. Face unsure. Splashed some water onto her legs. Face very unsure. Lowered her into the water some more. Face entirely unamused, frown growing by the second. But she wasn't crying so we brought the ring in and tried to get her into it. She was even less amused by that, especially when it turned out that despite saying it's for age 3-12 months, it was entirely too big for her and therefore completely useless. Zoggs ring was put to the side and not used again.

Back in our arms, she still hated the water. That day, her "swim" didn't last very long.

The next day, we tried again, this time armed with several of my niece's old sand and sea toys, but especially a bright red swimming lobster which she loved to bits. The bright colours kept her distracted while we lowered her further and further into the water until she was in up to her neck and not complaining.

She realised what we were up to a short while later and made it known that she was in no way amused and we were forced to take her back out.

Day three, I decided, on a whim, to use a regular swimsuit (ie not a full-body one). I am not sure whether that had anything to do with it, but that day, toys weren't even necessary. She was in, splashing and kicking away, loving it, for almost an hour!



Although the lobster was never very far away...

There was no turning back after that. We all swam every day, and she loved it every day. Our little water baby in the making!

Eleven Days, Part 1

At the end of June, we ventured abroad for the first time with Emily for what would be her first visit to the "Homeland", Malta. Everyone was excited to meet her, expectations were high. I was just glad the flight was a short 3-hour one, and not any longer. My expectations didn't really exist past that flight. I just wanted to get through it sane and preferably not hated by every other passenger on the plane. Having been those people who begged God and anyone else who'd bother to listen to ensure we were not seated next to a baby on a flight, we were about to be The Parents of Infant on Flight... the same people the old us shot poisonous thoughts at. (I might be exaggerating a little.)

In the end, it wasn't so bad. And it turns out many people are far more patient than I expected them to be.

Getting There

We chose to drive to Heathrow to be able to use our own carseat for Emily. The baby equipment used on this trip was planned with military precision. David's parents managed to get their hands on not one, but TWO, carseats Malta-side for Emily so we only needed to take our own pushchair (and had we wanted, we had one of those in Malta too, we just chose to take our own for comfort's sake).

Now let me make one thing clear. Travel Systems are the very antithesis of travel systems. They make travel harder and do not, in the slightest way, deserve the name. We've come back from Malta researching strollers, but that's another story.

Our flights completely clashed with Emily's usual bedtime. We did as much as we could to keep to her routine and left the rest to chance. Come 7pm, of course, she wouldn't sleep. There was far too much going on in the exciting, lit-up ceilinged airport to want to sleep. So we got onto the flight at 9.15pm with a wide-eyed, grinning baby being cooed at by everyone who passed.

Then she realised she was overtired and disaster struck. All the cooers ate their words and turned to the heavens for divine intervention for a quiet flight. The stupid air hostess came over to me and asked me if she could do something to help with the baby. I passed a snarky comment which she completely didn't get. What did she expect to do? Knock Emily over the head with a lifejacket to make her sleep?

She did sleep eventually, about 10 minutes which felt like a lifetime later, as soon as the engines turned on (yes, that's right - we hadn't actually left yet!). And then she slept for the entire flight on David's deader-by-the-minute arm.

She slept through the idiots idiotic applauding when the pilot DID HIS JOB by landing the plane safely. She slept through the loud Mediterranean journey off the plane. Through passport control near the Italian desperately looking for his lost sunglasses (how could an Italian survive without sunglasses?!). Through the conveyor belt's loud beeping to let us know our suitcases were on the way. Through the two moustached security guards' calling Gary Neville (he was on our flight) across the terminal to ask if they could get a (very early mobile phone camera) picture with him. Through the family welcome and obligatory terminal catch-up at 1am. Through the battle with the carseat (we are somewhat spoiled with our Isofix here in the UK and had no idea how to secure the seat using just a seatbelt... yeah).

She eventually stirred when we got to the flat in Sliema and I transferred her to David, who gave her a quick bottle while I set up the travel cot, we laid her down and that was that. She got up at 7am the next morning.

All in all, I'd say it was a very good first experience!

Notes: I was very confused about how to take her feeds onto the plane, and was hugely reluctant to waste anything. I decided against taking cartons of ready made milk, instead taking a flask of boiled, cooled water, and powder in a dispenser. I'd heard so many "horror" stories about getting feeds past security, and official advice seems to change by the week. I only needed to take a small sip out of the flask and we were through.

However, should push come to shove, and you need to use shop-bought mineral water air-side, just try and ensure that the sodium (Na) level is less than 200 milligrams (mg) per litre, and the sulphate (SO or SO4) content is not higher than 250mg per litre. (more here)

The Malta Bus

Yesterday was an important day in Maltese history. It was the day the traditional Maltese bus stepped down, replaced by its modern Arriva counterpart.

Loved and hated in equal parts, the orange buses - some of which dated back to the 1950s, if not earlier - were an integral part of Maltese roads (read into that as you wish). There would always be one close by, ready to hoot it's obnoxious horn at anyone who dared get in the way. Having one close by, however, did not necessarily mean that you were guaranteed a lift if you were waiting at a bus stop. Sometimes, drivers would simply choose to keep driving.

The buses were driver-owned, which - amongst other things - meant that they could decorate the vehicles according to their personal (usually, religious) preference. Song lyrics also often adorned their huge windscreens. "No woman, no cry" for whatever quizzical reason being a favourite.

They were also, however, dirt cheap. I remember a time when a basic ride cost 11c (26 EUR cents/24 GBP pence). Prices did increase since the last time I used a bus on the island (I'm not entirely sure when exactly that was!) but fares were never what you could call expensive.

The new Arriva system has been greeted with mixed reactions. Some resent the inevitable fare increase, others look forward to a somewhat efficient public transport system on the island - even if just to relieve the country of some congestion on its roads (in 2010, there were almost as many cars on the island as there are people), the bus drivers themselves are none too pleased to have their beloved buses taken away from them. Others just look on and mock.

While it's high time for an efficient service to be introduced to the island, it is sad to see the big orange hulks go. They were a tourist attraction in their own right - for many, a visit to Malta may never be the same again.


[Read: The Final Journey]

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