Weaning Babies and Thirsty Toddlers: Haberman anywayup® Cup Range #Review

The Haberman anywayup® Cup range claims to be ‘the world’s first totally non-spill cup’. Other features include a design which ‘protects growing teeth by allowing a flow of juice only when the child sucks and swallows’, easy-grip handles to suit little hands, and an emphasis on sipping, rather than guzzling. Six-month old Raffles is currently weaning, and she loves to grab things that make a mess, so let’s see how she got on with them.

We tried the Sip! Original 360 Toddler anywayup® Cup (RRP £5.95) first. The cup is designed to allowed toddlers to drink from anywhere around the rim of the cup, hence the name. The colours, orange and green, contrast nicely and immediately drew Raffles’ attention. She grabbed it with one hand and shook it for a while, desperately trying to cover herself in water. Unluckily for her, claim number one held up, and she was singularly unable to douse herself in lukewarm liquid. Nor was she able to prise the lid open, as it is very securely fastened.

As well as performing its main function superbly, it also worked as a teething toy, Raffles nibbling its rounded edges enthusiastically. This particular model is for ages 18 months+, so Raffles needed help getting it up to her mouth, but I have no doubt it will suit her perfectly when the time comes and allow her to transition from sippy cups to everyday beakers with minimum fuss.  The Original 360 Toddler anywayup® Cup is also available in red and orange, and blue and orange, and has a capacity of 210ml.

The next two models are for ages 6 months+ and are fitted with handy tapered nozzles which will allow Raffles to develop her drinking technique as she grows. The Moo! Cow Cup (RRP £4.95) was Raffles’ immediate favourite, possibly as its monochromatic design resembles her developmental toys, which feature lots of black and white contrast. The capacity is 250 ml, which is more than sufficient for Raffles’ current stage of weaning. Raffles has only been weaning for a few weeks but it didn’t take her long to master this sippy cup as it’s very easy to use.

The Tweet! Bird Cup (RRP £4.95) was the other model tested, and although the colours and shape didn’t hold Raffles’ attention as much as the previous two, this was perhaps the reason why she used it less distractedly and drank well from it. We loved the quirky design – the fact that the lid, when viewed from directly above, looks like a bird’s face. Once again, her urge to spill and cause havoc was thwarted by good old fashioned design efficiency. The Tweet! Bird Cup is available in green, pink and blue.

For the next few months, Raffles will be weaning like crazy so these cups will be absolutely invaluable. They are a perfect balance between style and substance – spill and leak proof, dishwasher safe (on the top rack), microwave safe (the cups without lids) and very stylishly designed.  Haberman is an environmentally conscious brand: all three cups are BPA free and all packaging is 100% recyclable. The only chaos Raffles will be able to wreak now is when she’s using them to whack her daddy over the head. He’ll be fine though – the cups are very durable and very light.
http://habermanbaby.com/non-spill-sippy-cups

We were sent these cups for the purposes of this post. All opinions are my own.

How The Unidentified Woman Stole Christmas: A Yuletide Tale

Without doubt, one of the bleakest days of my entire childhood was when my old-beyond-her-years, desperate-to-be-a-grown-up sister, sixteen months my junior, finally succeeded in persuading me that the avuncular Laplander, who I held in higher esteem than all others, was actually a distinctly average married couple from the West of Ireland. My parents, basically. And before anyone starts (my parents, basically), everyone is distinctly average compared to Santa Claus; he traverses the globe in a night, for goodness sake. For reasons unknown, my joyless sibling decided that almost-twelve (yes, what of it?) was simply too old to still accept the existence of a fictive being and gleefully set about systematically dismantling my childhood innocence, one beguiling myth at a time. Christmas has never been the same since.

During the week, my sister (the one who isn’t a mean illusion-shatterer) told me of a woman she knows who, exasperated at her ever-expanding letter to Santa, chose to underline the importance of frugality to her seven year old daughter by informing her that her presents were, in fact, paid for and delivered by her mother and not the rotund pensioner in the red suit. Christmas is expensive at the best of times and, as far as I’m aware, this woman is neither JK Rowling nor the wife of a Russian oligarch but way to kill the magic, lady.  Clearly of the mindset that a problem shared is a problem halved, the little girl wasted no time in circulating the unfestive news throughout the school playground.  Regrettably, as I wasn’t party to the difficult conversations that inevitably ensued between disgruntled parents and disheartened offspring, this festive tale must end here, unfinished, but, wouldn’t you know, I have waaaay more to say on the subject so don’t stop reading just yet.

I’m in no position to cast aspersions on another person’s parenting (I leave the house without nappies!) but this story has left me cold. Why anyone would want to accelerate the journey from carefree, innocent childhood to harried, cynical adulthood is beyond me. You might have guessed that I was inordinately fond of being a child. Unlike virtually all my friends, and my dream-crushing younger sister, I showed zero desire to be a grown-up. Indeed, there are some who’d argue (my parents, basically) that I’ve been admirably unwavering in my commitment to the cause. Gross misconceptions aside, there’s a lot to be said for indulging the wide-eyed wonderment of childhood. Precocious, know-all mini-adults have their charm until eventually, if you’re anything like me, you long to take them aside and implore them to “be a child!! And stop calling your parents by their names!!”

Back to Christmas. I’ll grudgingly concede that almost-twelve might be a tad too advanced to believe that an ageing, albeit highly industrious, master craftsman is capable of distributing hundreds of millions of presents to virtuous children across the world in one rip-roaring twenty-four hour period. Be that as it may, don’t demystify the wonder of Christmas for a still-believing seven year old girl because you want to teach her the value of money. As far as little children are concerned, budgeting is for life (and boring grown-ups), just not for Christmas. By all means, curtail her list but LIE, for goodness sake. Tell her Santa couldn’t possibly fit all those presents on his sleigh. Say he doesn’t like greedy little girls, if you have to. Don’t bluntly blurt out that he doesn’t exist. She’ll find that out for herself soon enough.

MERRY CHRISTMAS! x

Breastfeeding in Public: The Gospel According to Me

Farage has said something again. People are outraged. I don’t give a fish’s tit what Zippy-on-acid has to say for himself but it has given me reason to share my experience of breastfeeding in public.

1. Never assume

Forget any preconceptions you may have about the type of person who might object to your child’s basic need to be fed. As some of you may have found, it’s usually not the puerile schoolboys, tattooed hipsters or right-angled old men who will give you daggers across a cafe. Often the shrivelled auld strap from the age of seen-not-heard children and never-seen breasts is the one making you feel like you’re committing an act of gross indecency. She’d be livid if your baby was screaming the place down with hunger, but she’s also livid that your barely visible breast is out. In public.

2. It doesn’t matter where you sit

You’ll always end up in the hub of the activity. In a café? Well, the table by the till is the only one free. And now you’ve moved away from the till you’re next to the toilets. Finally you move near the door. Basically you become a magnet for foot traffic wherever you are, and when you leave and look back into the café, it’s miraculously emptied.

3. Ignore the looks

Don’t take it personally. The majority of people are merely curious about seeing a small human laying stiffly across your bust. Unless someone shoots you a genuinely filthy look, it becomes very easy to get on with your mammalian duties.  If you are unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of a frosty death-stare, kill your adversary with kindness by blowing a conciliatory kiss their way. Or a raspberry, depending on how mischievous you’re feeling.

4. Wear suitable clothes

Tight-fitting turtlenecks just won’t do. As well as taking ease of access into account, you also need to think about ease of concealment. Showing off your distended, glistening nipples  to strangers on the train for too long could land you on the Yahoo News homepage. Button-up shirts, and t-shirts with jackets over them are ideal, especially when you’re on the move. You can, of course, invest in some cleverly designed, double layered breastfeeding tops or dresses but I haven’t because I like spending my money on make-up and artisanal gourmet sausages.

5. Have a muslin square to hand

A moving train, a limpet full of milk, and winding can all combine to create a perfect storm of lacteous vomit, and there’s no telling where it might end up, or how far it will trickle. I’m sure this is veering into “state the bleedin’ obvious, why don’t you” territory but you must remember that I have, on more than one occasion, left the house without my daughter’s changing bag and, let’s just say, things got messy.

6.  Don’t look to Nigel Farage for breastfeeding advice

For God’s sake, just don’t. Sit wherever the hell you want. Although, mark my words, all the good seats will be gone. That’s just how it is.