A depressing visit to the paediatrician, because we promised to get Daisy weighed while we were here. You pay fifteen pounds here for a very thorough check up, and the doctor was actually excellent, after he had got back from his lunch hour at twenty past five.
He confirmed what we had suspected. Daisy is incredibly healthy and happy and advanced, but her growth is still very slow, and she has now all but fallen off the British chart for babies of her age.
He suggests we give her formula, and we reluctantly agree, and buy SMA Gold from the pharmacy. It’s about twelve pounds for a tin that will last us two weeks, which is fine for us, but crippling for a local family in the same circumstances. We’ve brought all our sterilising equipment with us, so are all ready to give bottles as necessary.
I’m saddened by the failure of my breastfeeding, although of course I will continue to do it before her formula feeds, and spend the evening lamenting my uselessness. In the event, a surprising thing happens, which no-one here or at home had predicted.
Our daughter, who has been happily taking bottles of expressed milk since she was two weeks old, will not accept the formula. She takes the bottle but spits out the liquid. I’m thoroughly depressed and don’t really know what to do, but Daisy seems fine, even show offy. She rolls from back to front for the first time, something she isn’t supposed to do for months.
1 comment:
hello hello hello to all three! really enjoying reading about your adventures, and the photos are fab. '88 Days in Mexico with a baby' will make an excellent book... Good luck with it all - huge respect and admiration for how you're making the most of this time. lots of love helena xxx
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