Monday, March 26, 2012

Dear Boy (12 weeks)

My Dear Boy,

Today, you are 12 weeks or 3 months old. That's one quarter of a whole year, but the other quarters are probably going to be so different.

The last few weeks have been up and down. Just when I think I've got you pegged, that I've got this mum thing down, you go and mix it up on me. You're growing up (and out and down) so of course you're changing. At the moment, you're learning how to smooth things out - my jerky little puppet on a string is becoming a real boy.

Your little hand is finally making it into your mouth... most of the time... although you aren't yet uncurling your fingers to suck on those. As I type this, you are sleeping for the first time with one arm unswaddled and every now and then I can hear your slurping away on your fist.

You've also started keeping hold of the rattles I put into your little hand. You shake them and smile at the noise and then try to jam it in your mouth.

You are still captivated by lights and the shadows they create and spend quite a while staring at the details of the plaster molding on the ceiling. You love the mobile above your change table and chat very happily to the smiley lion that hangs on it.

Your head is a little less wobbly, although you still hate tummy time. I'm not sure how you're going to learn to roll over or crawl at this rate, but I can't stand leaving you there, flailing and screaming, so we don't do a lot of it... we just don't tell the MCH nurse that.

We have an appointment with the nurse today and I'm sure she's going to tell me you've put on another kilo since the last visit, that you're still up there in the 95th percentile for your age. You look so big next to the other babies your age but you'll always be my sweet, little baby boy.

Much love,

Your Mum.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Not that kind of Mum

I love my boy and am excited about throwing him birthday parties but I am not the kind of Mum who will ever make one of these:

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Reading reborn

The morning Dear Boy was born I finished the sci-fi book of Lovely Husband's I'd been reading. Lovely Husband was still sprawled out in the darkness of the bedroom and I chomped through the last two chapters, curled into the arm of the couch in our sunny loungeroom. When I stood up to unfurl, to stretch, to wander into the kitchen to find some breakfast, my waters broke.

And just like that, the reading stopped.

Seven weeks later, after the hurdy-gurdy and dizzyingly mental early days of Dear Boys life, I found books again. The books I'd received for Christmas had sat undisturbed and a parcel arrived from The Book Depository (free postage, hooray!) with the latest of an urban horror series that was finally being published with a cover that matched my paperback set.

So reading was reborn, over the top of Dear Boy's head while he fed, one hand holding bottle to chomping little mouth, the other trying awkwardly to hold the book and turn the page at the same time.

Oh, how I missed it. Welcome home.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Hitting the wall

There don't seem to be any warning signs. He just goes from happy and gurgley to overtired and screaming in 0-60 seconds. And it's a surprise, every single time. I try and look for yawning or eye rubbing or grizzling or jerky movements or averted eyes or the zombie stare but maybe I'm blinking too often and missing them.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

The dining room nursery

We live in a two bedroom house. We rent said two bedroom house. We inhabit the big front room and Lovely Husband has his study, which he needs for work, and the spare bed, which he doesn't, in the second. We had planned on having Dear Boy sleep in his bassinette and then his cot in our room, and we'd spent the lead-up to his birth setting up his furniture and carving out a little space for him. But, man, that boy sleeps loud. Every snort and snuffle and grunt and groan and fart and fuss and winge and whine was waking me up. So the boy now sleeps in the dining room.

The dining room had become my study. It was halfway there anyway given the walls are lined with bookshelves and almost all of our books. I had co-opted the big table for my laptop and piles of paper and would clear it off when guests came and feasts were to be had. But now it's a room of books and baby. Dear Boy's cot doesn't quite fit in the nice neat corner so it's slightly haphazardly shoved in there next to the faux-fire place, which we've covered over with pillows to muffle the sound of the wind and rain and birds chirping that finds its way down the chimney.

People have lived in smaller homes, even had multiple families jammed into a single room, but boy will I be glad when we move into a three bedroom home. When we can close a door and know he won't wake up when we put on the tv or try to cook a meal, where we won't have to worry about every creak and crack of our nightingale floors.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

New songs on a Saturday morning (321-330)

As part of my ongoing effort to improve the range of my cultural consumption, I'm casting out for new things to listen to. Part one and an explanation of this musical escapade can be found here. You'll need to search for the rest yourselves.

It's been more than two months since the last 'new songs' post but, really, who's had time to listen to the radio or trawl the internets for something new, let alone find the head-space to make a note of it and put it all together in a blog post? So, I'm going to start on the ARIA chart and surf my way around, see what I find.

321. 360 (feat. Gossling) - 'Boys Like You' - Australian rappers crack me up - at least he's keeping the accent.
322. Train - 'Drive By' - Very poppy, but love the stories these guys manage to jam into their tunes.
323. Julia Stone - 'Let's Forget All the Things That We Say' -Not sure I like her as much without the tempering her brother provides.
324. Angus Stone - 'Broken Brights' - He does solo better. Much better.
325. She & Him - 'In the Sun' - Love the way Zooey Deschanel sings. Weirdo.
326. She & Him - 'Why Do You Let Me Stay Here?'.
327. She & Him - 'Thieves'.
328. Villagers - 'That Day' - sweet.
329. Villagers - 'Becoming a Jackal' - even sweeter.
330. Zooey Deschanel & Joseph Gordon Levitt - 'What are you doing New Years Eve?' - Love, love, love this glorious duet.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Triumphs and rookie mistakes

I'm sure I've said it before but, some days, being able to have a shower feels like a triumph. It really is the small things, so I thought I'd celebrate those and admit to the not-so-great parenting moments, a la Jen Loves Kev.

So, the triumphs this week?
  • surviving the 8-9 week 'wonder week'; you know those weeks where everything you thought you knew goes out the window
  • persisting with the BabyBjorn and actually getting in a walk with his gorgeously chubbsy legs dangling down 
  • my wonderful baby boy sleeping from 8.30pm til 6am (with a midnight dreamfeed in the middle)
  • going back to the drawing board with his feeding schedule and having three feeds in a row without any fussing
The rookie mistakes?

  • freaking out when he pooed in the bath we were sharing. Okay, it's poo, it's gross, but you're in the bath anyway.
  • letting him get his legs close enough to the side of the bathtub that he could kick and then bump his head on the other side
  • sitting bolt upright at 4am and not being able to get back to sleep until I've checked he's still breathing because he hasn't woken up for feed

Monday, March 5, 2012

His first song

My father specially chose each of our first songs. Mine was George Harrison's 'Love Comes to Everyone' and my brother's 'If You Believe'. Fifteen years later, my younger brothers had the Beatles songs 'Because' and 'The End'.

My boy's first song was playing on a radio somewhere in the lonely, empty recovery room. He lay in my pricked and canula'd arms, wearing an outrageously wacky knitted hat in purple and green. 


Lovely Husband picked up the sound: 'Can you hear that?'. His first song, '(Everything I Do) I Do It For You' by Bryan Adams. Probably not what I would have chosen, but apt. It was his first song as we snuggled together as a little family, and the song that was playing when his Grandma came in and met him for the first time, as the midwife and recovery room nurse pottered around us.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

The drama of sleep

I always understood that I would not be getting much sleep once a baby entered the house. I've somehow become accustomed to these broken nights and just stringing together half-hours until it passes for a night's sleep.

What I was not prepared for was the completely different drama of the baby not sleeping well, or catnapping, during the day. When he sleeps in 20-40 minute chunks and then is overtired or grizzly, there is little time for anything else. The bottles pile up in the sink next to the dishes; the clothes remain unwashed or growing ever stinkier in the machine because there's no time to hang out the load that just finished; nothing gets straightened or put away; dinner stays unmade until Lovely Husband comes home. Instead, we move from feed to play to sleep to trying to resettle to trying to resettle to trying to resettle to giving up and trying to stretch out until the next feed to giving up and giving the next feed and so on.

Somewhere in there I try to go to the toilet.


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