40/52 Whhheeeeeeee!

Parks, parks and more parks

I have blethered on about the wonderful parks of Newcastle before and bargainful days out there so I won't go on again. Today, after just making it out the door on time to a music group we spent some time in the city parks as the sun was out and although crisp it was otherwise lovely. Plus, I really couldn't face going back home straight away and facing tantrums if I didn't read A Squash and a Squeeze about a million times. 

King John's Palace...or what is left. Never actually stayed in by King John

We were closest to Heaton Park so went there first. There are five parks that inter-connect and form a very green corridor of several kilometres through the east to the north of the city. She deigned to tolerate a brief stop off at King John's Palace or what is now remaining. King John's Palace, was actually the fortified house of Adam of Jesmond, a knight and supporter of Henry III. The house is dated circa 1255, and the last date recorded for Adam is 1270 when he went on the last crusade never to return. He was not the most popular chappy and his house fell in disrepair and by the 1500s was already a ruin. Luckily, Heaton Park is one with some play equipment which pleased Wriggles greatly after her short history lesson.

 An hour passed very quickly and after a brief argument about wearing gloves (I lost, but like to think I won in some respect as I was not the one to then suffer chilly fingers) we plodded on to find somewhere to have lunch. An impromptu picnic on a bench in an idyllic spot was abandoned after an almighty tantrum that probably gave all surrounding wildlife a heart attack or at least, colossal ear ache. It wasn't a long walk further through the park and over Armstrong Bridge to Jesmond Dene where a cafe and visitor centre is situated. Wriggles is slightly better behaved in public sometimes so I voted us indoor lunch. True to form she fluttered her eyelashes at the table next door whilst declining her lunch is a slightly less vocal manner.

Heaton Park

 After  giving up  finishing, I attempted to tire her out going around Pets Corner where they keep animals and some birds and then getting to go in another playground. As normal, I was tired out first. I am constantly amazed by limitless energy of toddlers and that they do not tire of the same activity (going up the steps to the slide) about twenty million times on effectively an empty stomach.

Finally, we got slightly lost going back through the parks. As I have lived in several districts over the years and been a public-transport-avoiding-penny-pinching-student for some of them, I have pretty good bearings on walking through places here even when I have no idea ultimately where I am. And as detours go, this was a beautiful one. We walked along the bank of one of the Ouse tributaries and found our way back. All in all, a highly satisfying day out. When I got back, I was in a good enough mood to read books for well over an hour before pleading with Wriggles to try another activity: I failed.

Ouseburn, off Benton Bank. Recommended to get lost in

Jesmond Dene

There are days when I think I am not too fussed about living in Newcastle. Days when I think that whilst I don't dislike it, I am here almost by accident and although I have some lovely local friends and a fan-bloody-tatstic health service, could be anywhere else. I suspect those points alone, especially the latter, actually make up a large amount of the reason why we are still here rather than it all being a case of chance, circumstance or lethargy to uprooting.

And then there or days, or places, that remind me all over again why I actually love being here and begin to doubt that moving would create any answers. Today was one of those days. There was a brief hiatus in miserable rain and so I decided to be proactive (I say proactive; after some class A faffing and then a phone call from my mother it was actually past 11:30 by the time we got our proverbial skates on) and get us out the door and down to Jesmond Dene. Somehow I always sideline it in my mind, and then upon getting there can't work out why on earth I haven't been back sooner. Although it is not as easy to get to as some parks or places being right at the bottom of a steep valley, it is still very much accessible and better still on foot.

Jesmond Dene is part of the Ouseburn parks network; a series of parks and wooded areas that all run into each other throughout the city, especially from the north to the east. You can happily take a scenic route through several districts should you so wish rather than trudge along busy roads, although you may need time on your side! Once in the valleys that make up the Dene, it is hard to remember you are in the middle of a bustling city, especially one with an industrial past. "Jesmond Dene is a unique haven of peace and tranquillity for the people of Newcastle. It is a narrow wooded valley that follows the river Ouseburn (a tributary of the Tyne) for over 3 km. This provides an important wildlife corridor right into the centre of Newcastle. There is a spectacular mix of native and exotic trees, and the Dene is home to a lot of wildlife, notably the Kingfisher, the Red Squirrel and many woodland birds." It also has the ruins of an old working mill and 19th century banqueting hall which are now used as private artists studios. A newer attraction is 'Pet's Corner'; an urban farm housing pigs, goats, sheep, llamas, ducks and canaries. The visitor centre and Friends society arrange educational activities to bring people together and to explore nature from a very early age to a much older one!

So off we tripped on the metro (which to be honest, is a day out enough for Wriggles who gets madly excited by the whole thing. I am wary she may have a minor trainspotting streak in her) and walked down. Being semi-prepared, I had a picnic cloth and packed lunch.

Being semi-unprepared, when she had a reflux-moment I realised I had forgotten spare socks for her and an entire spare outfit for me. Error. Both me, the picnic blanket and Wriggles' new shoes were drenched in regurgitated Quaver and a whole bottle. Unsurprisingly we got a few funny looks. Wriggles decided this was the moment to try and crawl through it and then empty the contents of the pushchair. Just breathe, I thought through gritted teeth, desperately sluicing the pair of us and all contents down with ineffective baby wipes. Breathe. Count to ten. Alright, 20. It can't be helped. For a brief few minutes, locked in the baby chance toilets with a toddler who thought the whole affair hilarious and an excuse to strew possessions everywhere and squwark when tidied up, I felt incredibly low and lacking in any parental control, ability to comfort or knowledge of what is 'right' and thoroughly cross with myself as a result. I was also worried her feet would get cold and conscious of the fact that my new aroma was none to alluring-not that alluring any goats or similar was high on my afternoon agenda. Thankfully, the visitor centre has a cafe, and a shot of caffeine (me) and new bottle (Wriggles) was able to restore both our sanities and I was granted an increasingly rare giving-in to a nap, giving me chance to wring out my jeans and read some of a book.

Refreshed by some time not having to eyeball one another, when she awoke we were both all smiles and cuddles again and wheeled our way around to Pets Corner. The last time we were here, a few months ago, Wriggles was not yet really interested. She was fascinated by the people and the other children of varying ages and spent rather a long time fluttering her eyes at various men, but virtually ignored the novelty of llamas and phesants. Now a little older, she was far more alert and interested and giggled at the goats trying to clamber out of their pen (unsuccessfully, I should add). She was keen to practise standing up clinging on to the fence for life to see the ducks and wanted to climb on the bench and attempt to manoevre into the pig's pen. Needless to say, the latter was not permitted but the amazement of there being two big Tamworth pigs infront of her headed off further squwarking. Just recently after looking at me blankly for the best part of a year, signing has suddenly clicked and as we went round she signed pig, dog, rabbit and bird at the respective animals. Too proud!

We took a scenic walk through the Dene, stopping every five minutes or so to try out a selection of park benches, which may all look very similar but in actual fact are not.  We tried one with a bin at the left end, some with one at the right, some with no bins, some by flowers, some by gnarled old trees, some by dogs, some by cyclists and loony joggers and one by a bridge. Our trusty stacking cups had come for the ride and so we built up, knocked down, hid and discovered and hooted into them like megaphones (sorry tranquillity seekers). I am a stacking cups convert with almost religious zeal. They frequently come out and about and raise a smile every time. The only downside is that they are very good at being thrown...

It was amazing to see how the Ouseburn had been affected after the weather last week; it normally is slow flowing river that gentle ambles through the Dene, bisecting the valley. The waterfall is delicate and if anything, it is prone to being low and stagnating in the summer. This week though, it raced through and looked a little worryingly high. We walked up to the waterfall, which was ferocious and the speed of the water spat at us on the bridge, a good few feet away. Wriggles was not impressed in the slightest.

Gentle waterfall, several months ago

Mad torrents today post-scary floods

Pre-baby, I would often walk through the Dene, commonly using it as a route between the Ouseburn Valley where I worked part time at Seven Stories by Byker Bridge to where I lived further north of the city. I would go for walks (or hikes, given the steepness of some of the wildlife trails) and explore the systems laid out which are on at least three different levels. With baby, your route is a lot more limited if you have a buggy with you, as much of the footing is uneven and many of the bridges have steps going down and up, or the path suddenly drops away to a sheer looking view. There is however plenty to be seen still, and gentler walks can certainly be achieved. It is more than possible to do it with one pair of hands, though I imagine two would put you at a definite advantage. I look forward to nicer weather (please...?) to be able to picnic out and let Wriggles roam over the grass and inspect branches. It is such a wonderful resource in the middle of a built up city, and so restful and energising to have somewhere so separated and peaceful to go with little hassle or expense. It is the sort of place which grows with children and could be location for many memories being built. The looming trees and canopies smack of games of jungles, forests, fairy grottos. Not having a garden, it is lovely to know that nature is still on our doorstep. When Wriggles eventually takes her wobbly first steps unaided, outside seems a perfect place for gaining in confidence and not accumulating too many bumps and bruises. I just need to find the umbrellas...

Oh me lads...

Blaydon Races painted by William Irving, 1903

Yesterday I decided to get into the spirit of Wriggles' acquired Geordie heritage and join in the celebrations for 150 years of the famous Blaydon Races, written by George, or Geordie Ridley. He wrote and performed the song in 1862, first singing it in the music saloon at Balmbras which was also the place where people would congregate before setting off to see a horse fair at Blaydon race course. The ballad tells of a fairly fictional event of a bawdy bus ride along the route, but the characters and places mentioned in it were are real and can be traced today. The Blaydon Road Race, as is more familiar today, has been going since 1981 and happens annually, as the song states "on the 9th of June". The song is often referred to as being the Geordie 'National Anthem' and is one any friends from the North East can recite by heart whether they like it or not!

The amassed crowds

One of the many events scheduled around Newcastle and surrounds, was a day of music and celebration by Grey's Monument organised by the Sage Gateshead, our outstanding centre for music. Amongst performers, the County Durham born Graeme Danby, one of the stars of the English National Opera would be performing both the traditional ballad and a new version for 2012, with lyrics compiled by the listeners of BBC Newcastle to mark the changes that have taken place in the 150 years. It was really quite heart warming to see hundreds of people gathered of all ages out of a warmth and pride in the song and the strength of both community and identity in this area. When Graeme Danby was performing the new song it was such an atmosphere; the hairs on my neck stood up and a lump came to my throat as the crowd bellowed along with the traditional choruses. Everyone clapped and cheered along, and any of the musicians who were not on stage just started up in the crowds making for a truly special performance. A variety of talented Northumbrians played throughout the afternoon, and then at the end of the day, everyone came together again for the traditional and much-loved song. Song sheets were handed out to the crowds, and a sense of anticipation was crackling. It was as if the earlier song was forgotten; this was what it was all about, the history and heritage of these people. At 6pm, the 4000 amassed runners started the race from Bigg Market, Newcastle out to Blaydon and celebrations ran on into the night.

Rather like the Jubilee, I was highly sceptical about the whole affair and put it down quickly as not my kind of thing. I had heard the song bellowed by football fans and although appreciated the painting, was not very keen on it. I thought it would be a good day out for us though, and that Wriggles would enjoy the music and that it would be something to tell her about as she gets older, especially if we stay here and develop a strong sense of place. After all, it is not always 150 years of anything everyday, far less with a concert attached to it. I may have a slight Scrooge-attitude to many mass events, but I am determined not to let that spoil my daughters fun and innocence. If I have to shut up until she can make her own mind up, so be it! But, like the Jubilee street parties, I was pleasantly surprised and swept away in the cheerful and friendly nature of it all. I actually found it slightly emotional; the strength of the celebration in belonging and history. My father has always been fascinated by under-told history, like folklore and things passed orally, particularly song, in communities and families and it is not until I had Wriggles that I appreciated the importance of keeping small fragments alive and treasured, as somewhere down the line if not all the way along, someone will be fiercely proud and engaged in their history.

Race down Collingwood Street

I was born and raised in the South East where no one seems to give two hoots about where they came from. I certainly feel little allegiance to where I grew up. Fond, yes, but unless I specifically believe in something like some of it's services or a place, then I wouldn't go out of my way to stand up for it. Traitor? Who knows. Moving up north, one of the biggest surprises was the fierce pride that people have in the North East. There is really such a sense of people pulling together and celebrating and safeguarding the history, traditions and culture around it which is wonderful especially in an over changing world. Whatever people think about how things are today and the differences between the new 'culture rich' Newcastle compared the the industrial city famed for far more working class fare, they refuse to let the past lie forgotten. Even if much of the city is now unrecognisable to the past, especially for a newcomer like me who has only ever seen the product of a huge regeneration project, it will always be remembered and both the community spirit, independence and sense of place will always linger in families.

My Hinny

Altogether now....

 "I went to Blaydon Races
Twas on the ninth of June
Eighteen Hundred and Sixty Two
On a summer's afternoon
I took the bus from Balmbras
And she was heavy laden
Away we went along Collingwood Street
That's on the Road to Blaydon

Oh me lads, you should've seen us gannin
Passing the folks along the road
And all of them were starin'
All the lads and lasses there
They all had smilin' faces
Gannin along the Scotswood Road
To see the Blaydon Races..."

A Day of Two Halves

If ever there was a day of getting out on the wrong side of bed, today was it. I only have one side of bed, but obviously today it was Wrong. 


I had a rare lie-in until 08:20 (thanks Wriggles!) but awoke in grouch-mode and it got worse and worse. I intended to get ready early and go out before 10 to take Wriggles to soft play before lunch in the hope of tiring her out a bit so she might re-take up napping in the daytime and thus start sleeping a bit more normally at night times. Partly due to the rain and mostly due to my ineptitude, we weren't both ready until gone 11. Wriggles was driving me up the wall, only content to throw everything off my bookshelf constantly ad shriek at me if I dared correct her from reading books upside down (not a deliberate attempt to spoil fun: she can and has for months read them the 'right' way and now her upside-down-and-back-to-front method is very rough, breaks the spine of all the books and thus makes the pages likely to fall out. She has developed superhuman strength and can easily destroy a board book) or suggest that she could do something, anything, other than book flinging either with or without me. I discovered I had missed a series of payments on things so had to do some organising and grovelling which is never nice, and finally wrapped up a parcel to post to a dear friend who is having a baby shower this weekend, which I cannot afford to go to (WHY do airlines charge practically an adult fare for infants who will after all, only be sat on your lap with no luggage?). There wasn't a proper reason for getting cross, especially with Wriggles who after all was only being a toddler, but I found myself getting increasingly wound up and stressed with everything. The washing up pile haunted me, reminding me that I was rubbish at doing things when I knew I should and I felt tired and a bit overwhelmed by just life.

By the time we left, it was pouring down but I could not stand to stay inside. I know from prior experience, being couped up with a full of beans Wriggles in destroy mode is not a recipe for a happy day. We had a nice hour where we go some jobs done, called in on our recently retired childminder who was delighted to see the Wriggly one and had some lunch . Then the trouble brewed again as I tried to persuade the baggy-eyed and yawning child to have a nap. Just five minutes (or preferably twenty if you're asking). She looked sleepy. She has until very recently, had a hour or longer nap after lunch to recharge her batteries. This has suddenly turned into a battle meaning by 5pm she is a whining and exhausted child and bedtime is frankly a miracle when it eventually occurs. We walked around the park. We walked around the park again. We had some top-up milk. We walked around the park some more. In the rain. An hour later, with a very frayed temper I gave up. 

It is very rare I am grumpy with Wriggles or tell her off seriously. I do employ "No!" at appropriate moments ("NO Wriggles do not turn the TV on or off/grab plug sockets/climb onto the toilet/throw your dinner on the floor") but partly I've never really had cause to tell her off and partly I'm terrible at it as I instantly feel terrible. I'm not talking about dodging discipline, but shouting for the sake of a bad or frazzled mood over something that doesn't warrant that level of reprimand. I know it was wrong to snap at her, but snap I did. What with working and managing everything on my own from baby things to finances to the sodding washing up (where, where does it come from!) when it gets to the end of the week, a hard week of sleep regression, a frustrating previous day at work, then to be honest I need Wriggles' nap as much as she does. Just to get fifteen minutes or so to me. Just to sit down without guilt and breathe a sigh of relief. Just to know that the whining will almost-probably be cut out later. Just to have a cup of coffee that is still hot. Just to stop being two parents rolled into one with eyes in the back of my head and enough patience to shame a saint, for a tiny tiny fraction of time. I was cross and I told her off. I'm not proud of it. At all. But it was that or burst into tears. Needless to say, it did nothing. With defeat and now over an hour lost, I gave up and chalked it up to my list of failings and headed into soft play. As I paid the entrance fee, I knew full well that she wouldn't last the two hours it gives you but by now we both needed somewhere neutral and shrieking friendly.


And actually it did the trick. I chilled out and relaxed especially as Wriggles clambered over me. Seeing her cackling away to herself trying to climb the wrong way up the slide reminded me why I love her completely. I helped her perfect her clambering skill, which I suspect I may regret. It was rather hot in there, and as time passed Wriggles began to concern me slightly. She was getting very sweaty and clammy; I removed her t-shirt and clipped her face back. She was still very hot. In horror, I watched a bright rash spread across her arms and chest. It was very red and very spotty. Whether fever or heat rash it was hard to tell. Gradually it faded as I tried to cool her down and my bed time it is as if it had never been there. It is horrible moment though when your heart leaps into your mouth and panic is suddenly everywhere! We came home without even and had a cuddle that put the world, or at least mine, to right.


This week has been a little ray of bliss in terms of Wriggles' feeding. We have tried:

• Mummy's sandwich
• Mummy's cake
• Strips of pitta bread
• Wafers
• A bit of buttered roll 
• A vegetarian sausage 

...which have all gone down relatively well. I'm not talking huge amounts, but just tasting and Wriggles voluntarily putting them in her mouth is such an enormous step. I decided to bite the home cooking bullet today and make some sweet potato chips. To my amazement, as I deposited some on the highchair, Wriggles abandoned the strips of toast she was dribbling on and took one. And put it in her mouth. This was a beautiful moment; it was the first thing I have made she has touched*. Obviously I am delighted she now will try toast and sausages, but was giving up hope of ever being able to nourish her myself! Alright, I know it was just a bit of essentially fried potato. I imagine I could have possibly obtained some from the frozen aisle as the supermarket. But I cooked it. 

It dawned on me that I am enjoying food times with Wriggles. For the last 14 months I have been very much trying to enjoy food times zen to a fine art, but enjoy it? No way. Would you enjoy your offerings refused for months and months? Every day, several times a day no matter what you do with it? Would you enjoy seeing your child make herself sick with distress because she caught sight of a spoon....no not her spoon, your spoon you intend to eat your yoghurt with? Would you enjoy finally revelling in her trust that fromage frais is actually yummy only to see her stomach contents cover the entire kitchen because of one little gag? No, thought not. Live with, yes. Accept, yes. Chill out about, very almost yes. Enjoy? No. But now, now Wriggles is trusting food enough to at least make sensory discovery and her own mind up and at best actually use her oral skills and digest it, now there is variety and her enthusiasm matches my own, now it is fun. Now if she just put on a little bit of weight so I couldn't play the xylophone on her ribs...!

Getting a bit cocky with the "climbing" malarky...

Out of Office

Dear Reader,

Gone sun bathing. Normal service will resume later.

Remember your sunhats,

Love from 

Mouse

 xxx

Park Life

Sunshine makes everything feel better. This week, I have been trying to put any niggles to the back of my mind and utilise my day and a half off work into getting out and about with the Wriggly one. We are very lucky in our little city of Newcastle that there are plenty of small-person friendly things that are either free or cheap and do not need a car to get to. Hooray! One of my favourite places to go is Leazes Park in the centre of town, opposite our beloved hospital the RVI. It is just minutes from a metro stop and bus route and St James Park looms over, and yet when you are there, the traffic noises melts away and all you can hear is birdsong, ducks and people chatting. 
As parks go, it is quite large. It was the first public park open in Tyneside, opening in 1873 after working men petitioned for a space for recreation and relaxation. The park centres on a large lake with an island in the middle and there is a bandstand, boast hut, former lodge and tennis courts. There was once deer roaming freely through the park but now you have to make do with the still-surreal cows that are permitted to graze on the bits of the Town Moor next door.

Since Wriggles was introduced to swings and the love affair began, we have been to many parks but this is an extra good one. The swings are pretty good but the huge amount of open space is a plus and proximity to town should you need emergency facilities like a good toilet or biscuit shop. I suspect when she finds her feet, places like these will become even more brilliant to toddle around in. At the moment, Wriggles is quite suspicious of everything. Although she is willing to be tolerant and even mildly curious, she is very much Not Sure about grass and her legs twitch as though she is not sure she really wants to sit on it! She was quite intrigued however by daisies and cheered up once I had wrestled the picnic blanket out from underneath the buggy. We set up a mobile library and toyshop and I proceeded to use nearly a whole (little) tube of sunscreen on the pair of us. Well, you can't be too careful and 'lobster' is so not Wriggles' colour.

All in all, a very enjoyable afternoon. Mr Weatherman-more of the same please!

19/52 Exploring

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside...

I have always loved the seaside. There is something magical about the idea of being on the edge of a country and thus the wiggly line of a map. The tide that goes in and out by the power of the mood; the coastline being eroded by the power of nature, slowly eating into land. And the purity of an expanse of sand, just as the tide has gone out only littered with pebbles. It is like new snow, untouched and unmarked, ripe to be covered in marks and memories of days out and as a transient record of time that will be erased only hours later. Of course the less romantic side is seeing man-made debris washed up and when pollution disasters happen. I wish people would stop and think about their actions to be able to preserve things for the next generation and the one after that. I want Wriggles to be able to walk along perfect, albeit mildly chilly and blowy, beaches long into old age. If she has grandchildren (!) I want them to be able to play sandcastles in the summer here in the UK without having to worry about health effects. 

When I choose to move to Newcastle, I have to admit I was very swayed by the proximity of the coast. It is less than 10 miles from the city and the Northumbrian coast is stunning. I love the wild swathes and the more populated straights with ice cream shops and buckets and spades. Wriggles and I went to our new favourite haunt, Whitley Bay, today to play on the swings at the brilliant playground metres away from the beach and to sit on the sand. Wriggles was a bit nonplussed at first but began to cautiously touch the sand and dig her fingers in. It wasn't her first trip to the beach, but it has been quite a while since we have been which is baby-terms is like forever! I can't wait until August when we are going to East Devon for a week and weather willing, can sit on the sand every day. Ihave so many memories of sitting in the sand and grazing our chubby knees rockpooling and digging moats round sandcastles and trying to make them reach all the way to the ever changing sea. On a good day, I find there is nothing more relaxing than sitting and watching the waves. Especially with ice cream.

 Exploring at Whitley Bay, May 2012

Another bit of favourite coast of mine is Bamburgh and the surrounding stretches and seaside towns. Myself and a best friend went up there in September 2010 on a rare day off we had that coincided. Both of us had been working mad hours at our respective places of work and so it was a welcome break. We got a "scenic" bus which turned out to be one of those that drives in the opposite direction from every sign post and you begin to worry that just maybe you accidentally got on the wrong bus. It took over two hours to drive the 50 miles although it was a very pretty route. Still, two and a half hours on a bumpy bus... We had a perfect day, lunching at a quaint tea room and then running up and down the flat yellow sand. We turned into children again, laughing and shrieking and wading knee-deep in the clear sea. It wasn't that cold; not for the North Sea anyway! The sun was high and hot and we must have spent hours on the beach, soaking our clothes and letting our cares go free. Once dried off, we sat in a beer garden having a lemonade before reluctantly setting back home come tea-time. We decided to stop off at Craster on the way back and unfortunately made the discovery that we had £2 in cash between us and the only place serving food that was open was very expensive. Instead, to kill the two hours waiting for the bus we sat by the harbour and walked along the clifftops as dusk drew in. A perfect day and one that truly feels like my "final hurrah" as a child-less singleton. Because less than 48 hours later I had a very small and very sick newborn living in a plastic box. Although there is no real link, the time at Bamburgh feels like part of my birth story. It isn't of course; I didn't even begin labour there let alone deliver Wriggles behind a sand dune, but the proximity to the event and the carefree nature feels such a start contrast to the fateful Monday that followed, that it feels that that day was meant to be, like a final gift before weeks of pain, anxiety and a thousand different emotions before I got back the best gift of all.

At Bamburgh, September 2010

Less than 48 hours before Wriggles made her entry into the world

Craster on the cliffs at sunset 

Note: Alnmouth is a long way to walk from Craster. It is not advised especially a) in the fading light b) without a map c) with no telephone reception, supplies or adequate clothing d) right on the cliffs-see first point and e) when pregnant. We walked for a few miles and then wisely decided to turn back for the rickety (last) bus rather than getting lost and having to cosy up to some sheep. After Wriggles was born I became increasingly paranoid the premature labour was from either physical exertion such as loony sunset hikes or from catching something in the North Sea. All the doctors and nurses heavily disputed this pointing out neither me nor Wriggles miraculously had a present infection before or after, my waters had leaked weeks before, that my placenta was wrecked and that if I was accustomed to doing long walks or jumping about then my body would acclimatise this in pregnancy and it would not have had an effect until nearer term had I got there. Their view was that the only thing ridiculously stupid about it was given what happened in the following 24-48 hours, was that if it had happened any earlier then we would have had to rely on seagulls who are not known for their midwifery skills. Then again, as I discovered neither are toothbrushes or bath towels.

Out and About

When Wriggles was a little un, getting out about was pretty simple (as simple as juggling a baby and all their accessories can be). I could pop her in the pram and whizz off. Now she is crawling and much more awake, alert and showing far more personality, getting out and about is more of a compromise. I sympathise; I can;t remember my buggy days but it looks no fun being wheeled around when you just want to be investigating your surroundings on all fours. No longer can I get away with a trip to Salisbury's being stimulating enough to satisfy a morning out.

So what do you do with a baby who just wants to wriggle everywhere??!

The obvious choice is soft play centres, which are beginning to come into their own. They seem best earlier in the day in the middle of the week as Wriggles becomes very overwhelmed and distressed when they are noisy and full of bigger children. One near me has a sensory room also which I was very impressed with. Unfortunately Wriggles was slightly less impressed and finds it all a bit too much.  They are easier to go to if we go as part of a group outing so she recognises other babies and parents around and can attention seek if she so wishes! I suspect as she gets older they will become a much more used haunt. 


Parks are a favourite on a sunny day, or basically a day when it is not hurricane conditions. When there was nicer weather, we would decamp there with a picnic blanket, sun hat (wishful thinking), lunch, a spare feed, a few toys and books and a parasol and while away a few hours investigating twigs, dirt, grass and the icing on the cake: swings. We found swings relatively late as she was not to be trusted in supporting herself for what felt a long time, but now we have found them there is no stopping us! When we approach the little playground at our local park, Wriggles gets so excited and starts waving her hands and dribbling with anticipation. It is far sweeter than it sounds!


Farms and animal centres so far have drawn little interest as she is more interested in looking at the other small children and trying to either hide in my coat or wriggle out of my grip. Cultural places unfortunately are also echoey which means they are ideal places for her to try out her voice. I can live with her hooting but other visitors tend to get a little miffed that their intellectual peace is being disturbed.

Thankfully, I have recently found that two of the museums in the city centre have designated pre-school areas which are our current haunts and life savers. As big public places they have reasonably good access and facilities and both have cafes afterwards for a caffeinated treat-for me not Wriggles that is. The Laing Gallery and the Great North Museum in Newcastle are both operated by Tyne and Wear Museums which run several places across the Tyne and Wear. The Laing houses several floors of art and antique pieces dating back from around the seventeenth century until the modern. It has several local exhibits and is quite traditional. It has a great area dedicated to under 5s and has an adjoining area for older children to craft. Both are next to the cafe so an easy trip afterwards and has a secure gate to stop any minxes escaping. The area has an array of toys and books as well as some interactive art activities. One of the best, and our favourite, is a colour mixing bubble lamp. Yes-HOW good?! There is a colour wheel next to it, and as you press different combinations the lamp 'mixes' the colours. Such a great way for more aware children to learn and for younger children and babies to get sensory stimulus and a 'reward' for practising fine motor skills like pressing buttons.
The Great North Museum is my favourite; it is like a museum of curiosities. Among the dinosaurs, Ancient Egyptians, remnants of Hadrian's Wall and sparkly things, there is a myriad of stuffed animals. A huge exhibition of them, some in glass cases and some suspended in mid air or open to see. The really are a spectacle and a wonderful resource for children to see them up close, even if they are dead. The pre-school area here is called the Mouse House and is a dedicated room which boasts story times on Thursday mornings and every other Saturday. There are some simple exhibits for children and a tree trunk filled with sparkling stars, puppets and dressing up, books and a soft play style giant cheese with holes to jump down. It can get very busy, but at quiet times is fabulous and much time can be spent whiled away. It is very easy to walk straight into the main museum from there as well if it all gets a bit too much. Best of all, both places are free!




What do you or did you do with energetic and opinionated little people not quite walking yet?