At Maxim, my older than 12 years, I sterilize everything on every five to six times per day. Pacifier fell to the ground? Hop! A small turn in the cauldron of boiling water for 20 minutes well timed on my Timex.
I washed her clothes in hot water. I disinfect the room with bleach every day. I put on latex gloves to change diapers. And once I had the slightest doubt that perhaps I had been in contact with someone who was perhaps a little cold in the beginning of anything, I did not care a mask over the nose. Everything was so free of bacteria in me that I clung with both hands to my visitors do not put in the sterilizer (this was long before the time of the gel sanitizer).
I'm terrified that my baby mug measles, rubella, encephalitis, acute or even an infarction. I made the fight against the bugs carry potentially deadly diseases a priority. If Maxim was born in the era of H1N1, I would not have survived or I would have spent the winter cooped up in the full depths of my basement all the saints to pray and do the dance of "Out disease. At
Filou, three years later, my ardor for terrorist bacteria had calmed a bit. I only saw her and I accepted most everywhere to go out with my new offspring without imagining that all diseases of world had only one desire: to attack my baby. I made so much game that I pricked more hysterical when the ladies threw themselves at the crossroads on my carriage into raptures of admiration of the most beautiful baby in the world that was the mine. So when the pacifier falling on the floor, I spent just under hot water tap and each week I allowed myself to sterilize everything in boiling water.
Here? With my last ... Uh ... Is that a turn in the dishwasher, it works for sterilization? Is it okay if I put the pacifier in my mouth to clean it when it falls to the ground? It seems to me that this is not so bad if it crawls on the floor and the floor has not been washed since last week huh? Do you think I am a bad mother if I do my PYJ loads of layers and cover with cold water? Worse for the Weendex dusting is good, right?
In Max, when she was a fart, I would run the register in his baby book. Everything was well observed religiously. I can tell you, for example, that its navel fell to ten days, July 7, 1998, at 14 pm, just after the bath in which I had washed with soap and Aveeno as I had wiped with a towel green cap that had the design of a frog. Subsequently, I took her little belly and I inserted into a small bag plastic and I have pasted the whole page 8 of his book. At
Filou, I was somewhat less diligent. I did join the key moments: first feeding, first complete night, first word, first steps. I'm not for the first birthday.
Hmm ... The book of Samuel (did I tell you the name of my third?) Is still in its library. I fully intend to write stuff, but I always forget to do so. Meanwhile, I keep track mentally. "Honey, when is it that Sam smiled for the first time?" I am mom
thrice. But being a mother, it is not a simple recipe for pancakes that are consistently repeated Sunday after Sunday.
Things change. You learn. It can be seen.
We realize that even if you sterilize eight times a day our baby sucks, he can still catch a brochiolite. It's much more important to play with our Pomeranians than spend that precious time to polish hardwood floors, lest they swallow the dust. Worse I prefer to spend my afternoons with my baby cradled him while reading a story rather than waste these precious hours to enter dates into a book, anyway, they never consult.
Times change. For the better.
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