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I know I have been poor at updating you all with the latest news recently, and I apologise for that. I'm sure like a lot of people who write blogs, once you start these things, you feel an intense sense of responsibility for keeping them going.

There have been a few things keeping me from my duties in the last few weeks, one involving me, one involving the small boy.

I went to a workshop recently, to be a guinea pig for healthcare professionals learning about EFT - that’s Emotional Freedom Therapy to those who, like me, had never heard of it before. I won’t go into the details, because frankly I don’t want to have to deal with the inevitable eye rolling or “cuckoo” noises, but it really helped me.

One of the things that really hit be between the eyes was when my partner told me I needed to forgive myself for Alfie’s birth because you know what, I had never actually twigged that I was blaming myself for things not having gone to plan. Clearly I was though because since I got my head around that idea, I have felt much better about the whole thing. In fact, while I still feel sad about the birth it is now sad in the way I would feel about watching a film, I certainly don’t relive the experience with every retelling.

I found this on one of the blogs I follow and I thought I would share because it deals really well with the sorts of things I’ve been feeling.

VBAC Doesn't Make it All Better - The Unnecesarean -

And now onto Alfie’s latest news, and where to start ... milk, teeth, milk, teeth, oooh the joys never end at FTC!!

A couple of weeks ago, we went to a local open farm with Alfie and some friends. While there a chance comment about milk allergies led me to question whether in fact our little boy was suffering from just such an affliction. He has eczema, which is getting worse despite our best attempts to keep it under control, and he is somewhat lacking the weight department, even taking into account my pocket sized genes.

Keith called Allergy UK and they were very helpful and suggested we try a hypo allergenic formula called Neocate.

Anyone not familiar with this stuff, let me give you the 30 second rundown:

- It is usually prescription only, and rare enough to require PCT approval before any scripts are written
- It comes in 400g tubs
- It costs £35 to buy if you are lucky enough to convince a pharmacist to sell you some

Really, for the purposes of this story, that’s as much as needs to be said.

Last Friday, whilst waiting for our lovely GP to get a mail back from the PCT, I decided that inactivity wasn’t an option and sent Keith off to buy a tin.

Now when I said this stuff stinks, I was being kind. It has the sort of lingering, claggy, wretch inducing odour that makes you want to put your child down in the middle of a large open space and retire to safe distance of about, ooooh, 3 miles? It doesn’t just stink going in one end either, it stinks up the other end too, something which Alfie was extremely happy and proud to share with us. Even Harry, long time holder of the coveted FTC Stinkiest Fart award backed away from the green fug wafting from the boy’s nappy.

Anyway, Keith made up Alfie’s first feed at 11am. Alfie took one sip of his feed, spluttered, turned a delicate shade of puce and made known his disapproval. With extreme prejudice.

He then gave Keith the sort of day that made his usually doting father threaten to sell his first born to gypsies before finally giving in to the inevitable and taking a full feed in the evening.

Crisis averted we had a lovely weekend away, until Sunday night.

In terms of all things Urgent, there is no worse time than Sunday night so what better time to run out of our new order only, £35 a throw (sorry had I forgotten to mention that before? £35! There is no decimal point missing there, I will spell it out for you THIRTY FIVE POUNDS!!) milk that your small child has JUST condescended to accept.

You want to know how we got round it? I bet you do and the answer will no doubt spawn looks and sniffs of disapproval at what hideous parents we are: we gave him a watered down feed. There, I’ve said it.

Monday morning I was straight on the phone to the doctor to hurry the script along and after some pleading, begging, the merest hint of what could hardly even be considered threatening and no small amount of tears, Keith was able to run down grab script and high tail it to a chemist to pick up Alfie’s milk. For free this time.

Anyway, it’s a bit hard to tell if this new wonder milk is doing him any good right now because wouldn’t you know it, he’s decided to teeth, and teeth HARD. Noses, shoulders, fingers, ears, he’s not fussy, he’ll chew them all. When he’s not crying that is. Or threatening to cry.

Just pity poor Keith at the moment. He is earning his daddy stripes in ways he could never have imagined.

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