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Diary Of A New Mum -
Week 26

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High Chair Hell

This week we finally assembled Jessica-Ann’s high chair. We opted for the Tripp Trapp chair, a wooden masterpiece of design that should last Jess until she is about seventeen! Which is just as well, as it was ten times the price of most ordinary high chairs. 

I think Tripp Trapp is a Norwegian company (I could be wrong), but I found myself wishing it was Swedish – like Ikea. That way it might have been a little easier to put together. To be fair, the chair was reasonably simple to assemble, just four or five pieces that fit together with the help of an allen key.  

But for some reason, Tripp Trapp insist you buy all the parts of the high chair separately – the baby-set (a back rest and front bar), the cushion set (cushions – obviously), and a harness. What they don’t tell you, until it is too late, is that the chair has to be virtually taken to pieces again to fit each of the above. So I made the chair. Then I un-made it to fit the baby-set. Put it together again. Took it apart to fit the cushions. (Getting really annoyed now.) Made it up again. Then I had to un-make it yet again to fit the blasted harness! Give me strength… 

You might be asking yourself why I, as a doted-upon wife and mother, was putting this chair together myself when I have a strong and very capable husband to do such jobs for me? The answer is, Paul was in bed at the time with a bad dose of flu. (No jokes about so called ‘Man Flu’, please. It’s a lot of nonsense, in my view. Men are no more likely to play up their sickness than women – are we really so perfect?) 

So I thought it would be a really nice surprise for him if he got up to find that annoying job we’d been putting off had finally been done by somebody else – me! I thought it would take away a bit of his stress. Fat chance! Instead, he came down to find me screaming in frustration and scraping chunks out of my hand because I was too impatient to unscrew all the screws for the hundredth time. 

Poor thing. That’s me, not Paul. Throughout all of this, Jessica-Ann lay in her bouncer and watched me in that inscrutable was she has. She seemed to be laughing; saying “Chill out, Mom!” I popped her into her new chair to try it out for size, and she smiled at me kindly. Of course, I cried. She looks so grown up! I can’t believe she will be six months old next week. Can it really be half a year already? It doesn’t seem possible… 

How far we’ve come. From feeding every three hours, to being virtually weaned. From sleeping in random bursts, to sleeping through from seven p.m. to seven a.m. every day. From colicky crying to happy gurgling. Where will we be in another six months?

Diary of a New Mum - Week 27
Eating And Sleeping
In which I discover that even a well-trained baby’s feeding and sleeping can co inexplicably wrong!

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