The Domestic

Sophie White contemplates getting a gadget

Three kids in, and I have finally succumbed to a parenting gadget. With the first two, I resisted gadgets mainly because I was worried that they would complicate the already very complicated babies that I was dealing with. I did try soothers, but eventually abandoned them, reasoning that the effort it was taking to introduce them was funnelling precious energy away from my other main activity of early parenthood: googling ‘four-month-old won’t stop crying’.

With the latest baby, I’ve been doing my usual nap routine, which consists of essentially being in perpetual motion with the baby for the first six to 18 months; rocking, jigging, swaying and pleading with the conniving child to just please go the hell to sleep. It’s an incredibly physically taxing method that requires my full engagement at all times.

There seemed to be some light at the end of the tunnel recently when my eldest took an interest in jigging the baby to sleep, but he soon realised that the euro I’d offered to pay him was not sufficient compensation for such prolonged physical labour, and he quit. I was irritated — I’m not even getting paid, mate — but I think his having this much self-respect at six is perhaps something to be admired and something I, at 35, should aspire to.

One day last week, I was stirring this delicious risotto — which manages to be both rich and comforting, while still retaining a summery vibe — and noticed the other upside of the risotto dinner is the fact that I can stir it

“I remain held hostage by a tiny baby who is liable to crank up his trademark screaming”

and rock the pram at the same time.

What a sad indicator of where I’m at in terms of #self-care and #me-time that I am mustering excitement over a dinner I can make while pushing a buggy back and forth with the other hand.

Also, it’s a poisoned chalice in that my kitchen is so small that should the baby finally be lulled, I’ve effectively snookered myself in the most cramped space in the house, unable to slip past the pram and flee, for fear of disturbing the volatile child.

So I opt to remain in the kitchen, held hostage by a tiny baby who is liable to crank up his trademark screaming — it’s the type of newborn cry that literally sounds like someone is running a chainsaw in the corner of the room. The kind of cry that sometimes, when it’s hitting a fever pitch, I would gladly gouge out my own eye if it meant he would stop.

Luckily, that’s a choice that’s unlikely to present itself, especially since I spotted a nifty gadget called a Rockit Rocker on the pram of another baby. It appears to be a vibrator for babies and will do the jigging for you. Finally, something good comes out of all these technological advances. Now I just need to get one of those self-stirring pots for the risotto.