At the moment I am mostly spending my days with Tiny Son either:
1) attached to me at the boob. I swear, The Girls are his replacement umbilical cord. I am definitely not complaining – his newly acquired double chin tells me feeding is going pretty well. Sometimes he’ll have a quick five minute snack, other times he’ll latch on for hours. Yes, he is nursing like a champ (and is providing the nappies to prove it). It hurt like a mofo at the beginning. God damn! I’d forgotten just how much it can hurt at the beginning; excruciating, eye-watering, teeth-gritting, staring, wide-eyed into space, desperately trying to concentrate on anything other than the searing pain that is newborn nursing. After day three, I was beginning to understand why some people don’t breastfeed. But at the tail end of last week the pain magically disappeared, the cracks cleared up, Elliot’s latch felt better and we haven’t looked back.
2) weeing in my face. Why have I not yet learnt that when the nappy comes off and the air hits his bits and pieces, he is, without fail, going to wee? And moreover, that wee is not going to be a nice polite little dribble down on to the dirty nappy, as was the case with his sister, but a little hose pipe, let loose and fairly uncontrollable. Internet, I am going to admit to you now, I am terrible, TERRIBLE, at changing my son’s nappy. And right now, I really really dread it.
3) sleeping on me. He’s fine in his basket at night time, but during the day, Elliot loves nothing more than cuddles with Mummy (and occasionally Ruby – if she is having a day when she likes him). And you know what, I love it. I am going to buy myself a sling so I can wear him as much as his little tiny heart desires. Right now, I don’t even care that I may well be making a rod for my own back. I don’t believe you can spoil a newborn with cuddles or comfort and if that’s what makes him happy, then thats what he’ll get.
Firstborn Daughter is, understandably, finding it all very hard to cope with. She is very much a child of habit. An observer rather than someone who dives right in and embraces change. Bringing home a brand new baby, who, when she went to bed the night before, was a bump on her mother’s tummy has thrown her. Two weeks in, she’s beginning to understand that Elliot isn’t going away, and it’s pissed her off. We’ve had tantrums. We’ve had a lot of swearing – hearing a small child roar “fuck” is very very amusing, but also, horrifying. We’ve had toilet training regression, and disgustingly, I am not talking about wee wees. We have had dinner refusal and oceans of tears but the more we stick to her routine and keep things normal for her, the easier she’ll find everything (I hope). So she WILL stay at nursery, even when she screams and cries and guilt trips me, and she WILL go to bed at the same time as normal and that is the end of it. At the same time, I am trying to spend some of each day doing something for just her, and I’ll more often than not let her pick what she wants to do. We’ve read a lot of Hairy Maclary books, painted her nails a few times and watched Come Dine With Me (her favourite TV show) whilst snuggling on the sofa.
I know she’ll get there, this photo gives me hope they will be great pals one day soon.