A child-friendly attitude makes the difference, says Susan Hayden
It's amazing what a fortnight can do. Tim has become so much less a baby and so much more a little boy, and I am much more relaxed about him. Michael took a week off work and we went to Dingle.
We had a great time, and the holiday ended up initiating several unplanned changes, such as moving Tim to a cot and starting the migration to formula milk - both sooner than I had envisaged, but both dictated by Tim.
The travel cot in the hotel precipitated the move on our return home to a cot, and Tim's refusal to go near me for two days precipitated the move to formula. I wasn't sure how he would take to it, but he was perfectly happy with the change, and I am convinced he will eat anything put in his mouth.
To test this theory, I gave him a tiny bit of the yoghurt I was eating one day. His face contorted into a frown as his taste buds reacted to the strange entity in his mouth - it then settled into simple confusion, while he held the yoghurt on his tongue, before carefully dribbling it all out.
We stayed in the Skellig Hotel, a fantastic place for babies, children and adults. Babies are catered for with the provision of a communal washing machine, dryer, fridge, microwave etc, and a crèche. There's a kiddies' club for children and adults can indulge themselves at the spa.
Dingle in general is a bit like being on the continent in terms of how baby-friendly the whole town is. It was Michael's birthday during our stay, so we rang Doyles, a restaurant that had been recommended to us, and asked if we could bring Tim in his pushchair - a huge contraption.
"No problem," was the answer, and we were led not to a corner hidden from view, but to a perfectly normal place where we had a good view of everyone else, and a really lovely evening.
The only down side of our holiday was that Tim, having started to sleep for seven-hour stretches, went right back to just two during our holiday. He's settled back now to six, and I can only guess that the unaccustomed space in the cot made him wake up.
The evening before we went to Dingle we were invited to a barbecue. On arrival, our host glanced briefly at Tim, and said, "I can't even pretend that babies interest me." I bit my tongue as I thought back to the number of conversations we had had about her family of cats, a sprawling menagerie of spoiled felines.
Tim is coming on in leaps and bounds. He is able to "stand" on my knee, he can reach out and grab his teddy rattle and, naturally, put it in his mouth. He can hold his own bottle. He can also hold his head steadily, and push himself up with his arms when he's on his tummy.
He's even beginning to push his bum up in the air in an attempt to crawl. In fact, every day he reminds me that I must start an exercise regime soon if I am to fit into a bridesmaid's dress for my sister's wedding in September. Maybe I should put a progress report in this column and then I might be embarrassed into following one.
Susan Hayden is an Irish Times staff member - her column appears fortnightly.