The one where I'm feeling completely out of my depth...

Remember earlier this month I was sick? And I was all relieved that the Little Dude seemed to escape it other than one brief sicky incident & a few dodgy nappies? Well. I jinxed that good & proper.
My little man now officially has the lurgy that's been doing the rounds, and it is horrible.
He's been struggling to keep anything other than water & toast down since Friday, and is feeling very sorry for himself.

I was getting a bit fraught by yesterday lunchtime (read: a lot fraught. A big blubbery overtired mess actually - all panicky he'd start losing weight & end up back in hospital like when he was only a week old, generally feeling totally useless & like the worst mummy ever.), so called NHS direct (after getting no answer from my health visitor or GP - clearly babies just aren't supposed to be poorly on Saturdays - sorry 'bout that.) and spoke to a lovely nurse who calmed me down & said that as long as he's getting plenty of fluids, a few days off his food won't do too much harm.

I don't think that nurse will ever know how grateful I was for that call. I was in such a state, feeling like a crappy mummy, and in just a few minutes, she chilled me out & made me feel a million times better. She probably put the phone down thinking 'ah bless, first time mummy dealing with her first tummy bug - she best toughen up quick!'
And although I did have a slight mini-meltdown when the Daddy got home from work, I think that was more from sheer relief at having some help & a chance to close my eyes for 10 minutes.

It's times like this that make me realise just how much I still have to learn.
And remind me that I am completely responsible for taking care of my little man - that he's completely dependant on me come rain or shine.
And to be completely honest, it sometimes scares the bejeesus out of me.
Things will be ticking along nicely, I'll get comfortable - maybe even let myself think actually, I'm pretty good at this, and bang - something new comes along to remind me I'm still a complete novice.

Today, the Little Dude's much the same - a bit more cheerful when he's awake, but still sleeping a lot. No sickness in the night, so I tried giving him a bottle for breakfast - that was a mistake, but there are wet nappies, and he's still drinking lots of water & munching down his toast, so that's encouraging. And I managed some sleep, so have a slightly less neurotic-first-time-muimmy head on, and am feeling a bit less useless and overwhelmed by it all.

Still, fingers crossed he'll be better tomorrow - I miss my happy smiley little monster.

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Another mummy rite of passage down.

I hate being sick.
I am a terrible patient. I don't like to be nursed, or waited on, or mollycoddled.
I just want to bury myself in my duvet and hibernate till I feel better.

Turns out, you can't really do that when you're a mummy.

A horrible gloomy cloud of sicky bug has been hanging over The Little Dude household this weekend. All the Daddy's fault I hasten to add, he totally started it, then shared it with me, then the poor Little Dude got the dregs of it today. Thankfully, he seems to have got off lighter than we did - though we have gone through 6 changes of clothes thanks to various vomitting/runny nappy incidents. (sorry if that was TMI - you know we're all about keeping it real here at LWALD!) Have been sure to get lots of water down him, and he seems quite happy now - sleeping like an angel & no incidents since 7pm. All good. Touch wood.

I, on the other hand, am utterly exhausted.
Luckily (?!), my portion of the evil out-of-nowhere-virus 'manifested' itself Saturday night/early hours of Sunday morning while the little man was sleeping, but when he woke me up at 7am Sunday morning, holy crap I was an empty shell of a mummy. (Quite literally - that's how sick I was :P). But, the Daddy had to go into work, so it was all on me. And somehow, from somewhere, I found a shred or two of energy, and I got on with it.

Because that's what mummy's do, right?

Sure, we didn't do any dancing, or much chasing around on all fours, but we did read, we built blocks, and we chilled out & we cuddled & we watched maybe a little too much tv. And sure, I did breathe an almighty sigh of relief when the Daddy got home & my tired, achey, dizzy-headed, body got permission to sleeep, but while I had to, I pulled it off.

Which is lucky, because today of course, the little man suffered through his own portion of lurgy & needed his mummy on top form.
He's actually a pretty good patient though - a bit grouchy in places, and quite limpet-like for most of the day, but quite low maintenance really.
(other than the repeated top to toe changes. seriously, felt like I had a newborn all over again :P)

But ANYWAY. Safe to say, we have successfully seen off our first visit from the tummy bug, and we ain't scared of him. (But if he could leave us alone for a while anyway, that would be good.)

Oh and don't worry, The Daddy will be making it up to us for bringing a plague on our house. Oh yes!

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Teething Traumas

Yes, the teething gremlins have arrived chez Little Dude.

Technically, they arrived about a month ago, bringing with them great excitement at the first sighting of a tiny white sliver of tooth (bottom middle right if you're interested).  It was quickly followed by its neighbour - and a tear or two was shed about my baby boy growing up.  I was also super impressed that his first two toothypegs had made an appearance with little more than a hefty portion of drool.  Oh how naive I was.

At the risk of sounding smug & making you all hate me - I've been blessed with a really chilled out, happy little baby, who rarely cries, certainly not for more than 5 minutes.  He grumbles if he's hungry, has a full nappy, or gets overtired.  That's about it.  Or at least it was.

Yesterday, he cried for Three. Hours. Solid.  And I don't mean grumbled.  I mean properly, really cried.  Horrible painful screaming, utterly inconsolable. 

Calpol, Bickipegs, gel, teething ring, frozen carrot stick. 

Fail Fail Fail Fail Fail. 

I felt like the worst mummy in the world, there was absolutely nothing I could do but cuddle him, pace around, and cuddle him some more.  I was so not prepared for so much crying!

He finally gave into sleep just after 10pm, and then was up & grouchy on and off during the night.  I chalked up about 2 hours of sleep made out of 20 minute bursts here and there.  I'm sure I did better than that when he was a newborn!

Thankfully, today has been a breath of fresh air by comparison.  My smiley little boy is back.  For now at least.

And oh I have heeded the warning!

Some of my lovely twitter chums were on hand last night with lots of good advice, so now we are fully prepared for the next onslaught.  There's a flannel in the freezer (thank you @violetposy), we have powders & homeopathic deelies at the ready (muchos gracias @suzypink & @Wendymal), a little pot of carrot & cucumber sticks in the fridge (which if nothing else, will make a good snack for mummy when she's tearing her hair out at 2am), and as a last resort (because I prefer not to medicate if I can possibly help it) there's Calpol & Chidren's Ibuprofen (ta muchly @cafebebe & @ilovemonty).  So, hopefully, we can avoid another three hour scream-fest any time soon.  And if not, I shall try to remember the kind words of @porridgebrain & @kellyfairy & @InsomniacMummy - I'm not a rubbish mummy, teething just sucks.  Or words to that effect.

Still, I can't wait till that gummy little mouth is filled with pearly whites & we can move on to whatever's next.

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You know you're a mummy when...

...you lose the ability to frivolously spend money.

Yes, it's true. I've lost my senseless spending spree gene. Where did it go? I don't know. Will it ever come back? Only time will tell.

Let me explain...
last weekend, The Daddy and I decided to take The little Dude on his first trip to Brighton. (That's code for mummy has dropped some baby weight so deserves a little Primarni-based treat.)
The Daddy had just got a little bonus at work, and since we'd been super frugal for a few months (and did I mention, dropped a little baby weight?), he offered to treat me to a wee fashion splurge. (Yes, I love that man.)
So we jumped on the train and off we went.

First stop, Primark. Always fills me with excitable giddiness. Generally, on hitting Primark, I'll spend around £50 & come away with 2 big brown bags full of loveliness. I have a specific route I always follow so as not to miss a single rail of bargainous fashion - you may call it sad, I call it efficient. It's a big store. Basket in hand, Daddy pushing pram behind, off I went.
Forty minutes later (told you, it's a big place, and I'm very thorough), in my basket was a top, a bag, a brooch, and a necklace. Total cost: £10. Pathetic.
Upstairs to bambino goodies - picked up a few bits, but still not terribly impressed.
Queued and paid, left a little disappointed, but still hopeful that H&M would yield better results. (especially as there are now TWO branches - deep joy!).

After a Starbucks vanilla latte to energise & regroup, we hit store number one.
Come on Hennes & Mauritz, lay your couture goodness on me.
Or just three pretty dresses in the whole place, all in stupid little tiny size sixes.
FAIL.
We're down, but not out. There's still the original H&M in Churchill Square. Where an emo-punk-princess bomb appears to have gone off.
DOUBLE FAIL.
Okay then, H&M Kids.
NOW we're talking.
Pretty much my whole splurge budget goes bye-bye on tiny clothes covered in robots and monsters and such.
And that's when it hits me.
I actually don't mind.
Sure, I'm gutted to not be strutting home clutching bags of new pretties, but I can't wait to see my little man in all his new goodies :)
It's official, I'm a mummy.

My 'haul' for the day looked like this:


The Little Dude's, looked like this:


That's the way to do it!

Of course I'm not saying that I'm done with my wayward shopping spree ways altogether, but it seems that without me even noticing, my priorities have really changed. Which is probably a good thing, if a little disconcerting at first.
I even find myself reconsidering SALE bargains - 'sure, it's only a fiver, but that fiver would buy a week's worth of nappies' - that is scary stuff.

Got me thinking though, I'm only 4 and a bit months in - what other madness is going to creep up on me out of nowhere? So, my lovely friends, do tell- what have been your defining 'OMG I'm a mummy' moments so far?
(And somebody, please, tell me I'm not likely to suddenly stop loving loud noisy guitar based music & discover a penchant for Ronan Keating. Please?!)

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If it ain't broke... don't be a lazy bum & stay in bed!!

Today has been something of a rite of passage. Not a good one though.

Let's rewind...
Friday: Let the daddy's 4 day weekend commence! Much joy, quickly cancelled out by the dread that was the mummy having a date with the dentist to have 2 wisdom teeth yanked out. Ouch :( But an hour or so later, still numb, but determined not to waste any more weekendie goodness, we trundled to town in search of lunch & cold drinks. (medicinal purposes, obviously.)
Whilst lunching, got a text from a friend to say she'd had her baby in the early hours of the morning - yay :)
So, off we trundled to the hospital for a visit. (via mothercare for teeny sleepsuit purchasing - little minx had decided on being 2 weeks early so was weeny, very cute though. But didn't make me want another. Honest.)Finally got home at around 7pm, having been out since 8.30am. Loooong day.

Saturday: *gawjuss* sunshine, so despite much leftover dentist pain, decided it was too nice to stay in, promptly went for a long walk along the seafront with the Mr the baby & the dog, stopped off for pub lunch in the beer garden (pear cider- far better wisdom tooth painkiller than ibuprofen!), long walk home, crashed out in front of rubbish Saturday night tv. Looooong day numero deux.

Sunday: Again, scrummy weather, decided it'd be a good idea to jump on the train & go to Brighton. Much pounding of highstreet later, got home, cooked dinner, zonked. Yeah, Looooooong day hat-trick.

Monday: More sunshine? Why you are surely spoiling us Madame Nature! There was a big ol' fete/procession/charidee affair on in town, so we went & had a nosey at that, and then as is tradition on Bank Holiday Mondays, headed to the pub for their daytime-kids-welcome-karaoke affair. (My sister works in the pub & one of my best mates does the karaoke - be rude not to :D)
Got home all walked & sung out, and yes indeed, that made 4 on the looooong day tick chart.

Back to today...
the little dude was awake at 5.30am. Bear in mind that he is a dream baby who usually lets me sleep till at least 6.45, and had hardly any naps yesterday, so I was (foolishly) hoping for a reasonable lie-in. Still, he was quite happy laying in bed with me till about 7am, then started shouting for a bottle.

Here's where it all went wrong.
Usually, we get up at 7am, Dylan enjoys breakfast while watching GMTV, we play for a while, then he goes for a nap at about 9. That's been our routine since he was about 4 weeks old.

Today, I was an exhausted, sleepy, lazy mummy.
So when Daddy made up a bottle & brought it into the bedroom, I thought 'Ah what the hell' propped the little dude up in our bed, and fed him there. All good. Don't know whether he was just super comfy or exhausted from the full on weekend, but he fell asleep again pretty much as soon as he was finished, for a good 2 hours.

He woke up FULL of beans, demanding to be fed, entertained, changed - all the usual.
The window for his afternoon nap came & went.
His afternoon feed came & went. Still no sign of sleep.
We played, we danced, we listened to The Guillemots.
Nope, not tired.
We read a story.
Not tired.
Got to about 4pm & the cranky kicked in with a vengeance.
Cuddles didn't work, rocking didn't work, singing didn't work.
He cried.
I cried.
Daddy got home at 6.30, mummy was frazzled & relieved.
7pm bottle came and went.
8.30 - FINALLY, a sleeping baby.

So now, my head is pounding & I'm twice as tired as I was this morning.
Lesson learned? Do not mess with the routine.

Not ever!

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What a difference 16 weeks makes!

The little dude has been here for 112 days today!
It amazes me how much he’s changed in that time – aside from over doubling in size! He’s constantly smiling now (oh how I love that big gummy grin when I get him up from his naps!), getting more vocal by the day, and *this* close to sitting up unaided!

He’s so much more interactive too – with me, his daddy, other babies – the dog!
Rather than just looking all cute and dinky & sleeping & pooping, he’s developing a proper litle personality - he's a total chatterbox, grabbing everything he can get his hands on, always looking round, taking everything in. He’s brilliant.

And of course, I’ve done 16 weeks of intensive mummy-training too, and d’you know what? I think I’m actually getting pretty good at it!

- I can change even the most explosive nappy in less than a minute
- I can get the LD dressed in less than 5 – without worrying that I’m going to bend an arm the wrong way or twist an ankle! (his, not mine :P)
- I can (at a push) have us both washed, dressed, fed & out the door before 10am
- I can tell the difference between cries for ‘I’m hungry!’, ‘I’m bored’, ‘I need a new nappy!’, never believed that would happen!
- I can trust myself to know that the LD is well fed without having to neurotically set alarms on my mobile to make sure he’s feeding 3-hourly-on-the-dot-like-clockwork (I love that one!)
- I can pretty much count on getting at least 6 hours of sleep at night! (Love that one even more!)
- I can do a whole bunch of things one-handed.
- I can multitask like no ones business – loading the washing machine while making bottles, eating toast & brushing my hair? No problem.

Don’t worry though, I’m not about to get to get all smug & complacent – I’m well aware that there’s still lots to learn!

The LD will be crawling before I know it (what do I do then when I need to nip to the loo? Can’t just leave him lying on his play mat, safe in the knowledge he’ll still be there when I get back!!), and of course weaning is on the horizon (am currently reading up on babyled weaning after everyone’s advice – interesting stuff!), plus a million other new challenges I haven’t even thought of yet.

Honestly though, I’m loving every minute of it.
Who knows what the little dude & I will have learned in another 16 weeks?
All I do know, is that I can’t wait to find out.

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Note to self:

Just incase I get all baby-brained in the next few months (which is quite highly likely), I am writing myself this note.
So if anyone catches me getting all misty eyed & nostalgic about being a preggopot, please point me back here!

.............................................................................................

Dear Leslieanne,

This is what's left of your sensible pre-mummy brain talking, please pay attention!

Today, you took the little dude to the weigh-in clinic, and couldn't quite believe that the tiny little person you brought home 15 weeks ago, now weighs over a stone. 14lb 4oz to be exact. We've certainly come a long way from those horrible few days back in hospital where he was struggling to put on any weight at all... in fact, that all seems like about a million years ago now.
But I'm steering away from the point.

At the clinic, there were lots of really tiny babies. As in, of the just a few days and weeks old variety, and you struggled to remember the Little Dude ever being that little.
Those dinky pink wrinkly bundles, with their eyes barely open, their arms and legs still curled up tight, their tiny little fingers... well, yes, they made you go aawww, and they made you smile.

And yes, one day, you'd very much like to give The Little Dude a little brother or sister to play with, but NOT YET!!!

So just incase you get too clucky too quickly, and before you launch yourself at The Daddy saying 'I want another one!', please remember:

1. Being a preggopot was hard work, and you promised yourself at least a 2 year break before doing it again.
2. There are no more free rooms in the house!! Do you *really* want to move again already?
3. You are *this* close to being back in non-preggo jeans. Let yourself enjoy being vaguely skinny again for a little while at least!
4. The Little Dude is now giving you a good solid 6 hours of sleep most nights - it did not start that way!! Do you really want to go back to an hour or two at best just yet?
5. The Little Dude is amazing. He is changing & learning & developing daily. He's coming up with his own little personality & picking up new skills (and anything else he can get his hands on) all the time. He makes you beam with pride on an hourly basis. Do you really want to miss one single moment of the excitement because you're too tired being all pregnant with numero deux? No.

Our time will come again, and it'll be magical all over again, but for now, let's just enjoy what we've got!

Still, can't hurt to carefully pack away all the tiny little clothes the noodle is growing out of... just incase ;)

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Rebel with a baby - I mean cause.

I have come to the conclusion, that I’m a rebel mummy. Yep, I am.

When I got pregnant, I read a stupid amount – books, websites, articles, leaflets from the midwife – everything I could lay my hands on.
I was going to be the best read, best prepared, most perfect mummy EVER.

HA!

Having had a real life baby for a little more than three months (rather than the little text book version who feeds 3 hourly on the dot, naps with military precision and never ever cries for more than a few minutes {really, Gina Ford, really?!}), I know now, that pregnancy books should be viewed as a rough guide. A jumping off point to start negotiations if you will.

Here are just a few of the mummy rules I’ve already broken…

Do not mix breast & bottle in the first months. Check.

If breastfeeding, do not offer baby a dummy in the first months. Ooops. (I was not prepared for the 40 minute cry-a-thon on day 4, having slept for about 6 hours since the little dude’s birth – so the dummy that came free with our steriliser was an absolute godsend. I am glad though that the noodle only uses it for maybe 5 minutes while he’s settling down to sleep.)

Use Controlled Crying – nope. Tried it once, felt like the worst mummy ever, not doing it again.

Make a bath part of baby’s bedtime routine every night. Much as the little dude quite enjoys a splash in the bath, it’s still a bit of a large scale operation – and frankly far too time consuming for every night. Plus, he’s a baby, apart from the nappy region, he doesn’t get all that dirty. So he generally has a bath 2 or 3 times a week, and gets topped & tailed daily instead.

Mummy should sleep when the baby sleeps. Nice theory, but when am I supposed to take a shower, do laundry… eat?

Don’t let your baby fall asleep in your arms – always put them down awake. This is the one I hate the most. I love cuddling my baby boy, and when he gets sleepy, I love the way he snuggles right into me (especially now he’s learning to cuddle properly – chubby little arms grabbing you tight :D). We settle down on the couch together, I sing him a song, and he soothes himself off to sleep. It’s not all the time, but yes, it’s at least once a day, and yes, I enjoy it. So there. Sorry Ms Ford, we’re just going to have to agree to disagree.
(and he's still quite happy to settle himself down too, so I'm not making a rod for my own back!)

So does breaking the rules break your baby?
Of course it doesn’t.

My little man is amazing (yes, I know I’m biased, but it’s true!), he hardly ever cries unless he’s hungry or in need of a new nappy, he’s almost sleeping through, learning new things crazy-fast every day, and is definitely not suffering as a result of his mummy making up her own rules!

All the books and what not are all well and good, but they really shouldn’t take over from the most important ruling of all – mummy instincts.

However, for a little light relief, these baby do’s & dont’s are well worth a look – I’m emailing the link to all my pregnant friends :D

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The controversy of boobies!

So as a new mummy, I can't help but keep up with the mountain of media coverage breast feeding has been attracting lately.

My first thought on the whole thing, is why is it all such a big deal?
Why do so many people who aren't even mothers, care so much about how those who DO have children, feed them?
(prime example - the breast feeding consultant who 'helpfully' manhandled my boobs in hospital, has no children, yet made it her mission to get me lactating like a jersey cow. go figure.)

Secondly, those who apparently find breast feeding in public 'offensive' or 'inappropriate'- what exactly is your problem please?
If you find it so terribly awful, here's a suggestion: don't look.
We are not doing it for attention, it's not a peep show (in my own experience, I'll use anything available - blankie, bib, babies head - to make sure I'm flashing as little boob as possible!), we're doing a job. Would you rather a hungry screaming baby interrupt your oh-so-civilised cappuccino & browse through the times? Thought not.

Thirdly, those of you out there who are so fiercely pro-breastfeeding you view formula as the devil's baby juice & mums who use it as unfit, selfish anti-mothers, how about sparing a though for those who can't breastfeed?
Oh I know I know, 'it's the most natural thing in the world', 'breast is best', blah blah blah, but as with most things in life, sometimes it just doesn't pan out.

And the last thing a new mum who can't, or has decided not to breast feed needs, is someone who doesn't matter judging her decision.

Because ultimately, that's what it's all about - each individual mother making her own choice. And it should be an informed choice - as my good friends cafe bebe & OMG Pregnant have been discussing, and it should be respected.

Personally, I always wanted to breastfeed. I didn't even think about it, just assumed it'd all fall into place.
WRONG!
My birth was traumatic.
Afterwards, I was exhausted, and the little dude was too.
We tried almost immediately, he wasn't interested.
A little later, the breastfeeding consultant came to visit, poked, prodded, and shoved my boob into the little dude's face, not happening.
A little later still, he woke up from a nap & I tried myself, he got there. I was full of joy. For about 7 seconds.
Oh my God it hurt.
Nobody had told me 'the most natural thing in the world' would make me want to swear like a sailor.
But I persisted. After a week of feeding on demand, often 2 hourly for an hour at a time, my boobs, and me were a mess.
The HV came round to weigh the little man, he had lost 14% of his body weight. I was distraught. I was so disheartened. I felt like a failure.
We had to take him back into hospital, he was weak & listless & just didn't have the energy to feed.
They gave him some formula through a tube (which utterly broke my heart) & encouraged me to express as much milk as I could, which went down too.
(NB: they lent me an electric breast pump - that did NOT help my painful boobs one bit. Imagine a hoover latched to your nips. Yeah, owch.)
Withing 48 hours, he was back at my boobs.
It was still killing me, but I was so relieved, I grinned & bared it.
The doctor's guessed that he may have been 'lazy feeding', I didn't care, it all semed to be fixed, we could take him home, I was happy.
A week later, still feeding on demand what felt like a thousand times a day (and night!) the HV weighed him again, he'd put on 3 ounces.
That was my lowest point.
HV suggested topping up with formula after every feed, and after she left, I reluctantly sent the daddy out to get a pot of Aptamil.
I cried for over an hour.
Within another week, we were officially combination-feeding - alternating one boob, one bottle through the day, and just boobs at night.
And we were all SO much happier for it.
The little dude started gaining weight beautifully, my boobs started healing, the daddy stopped having to watch me cry every time I fed.

Breast is best? No, this was much, MUCH better all round.

Now, 3 months on, it's about half & half. The little dude is happy, healthy & thriving - and seems to be slowly weaning himself off the boobies, which is good,I only ever wanted to breastfeed up until proper-food-weaning, as I personally believe that's long enough.
(But that's another story!)
And for the record, my son & I have bonded fantastically despite our bumpy road, so there goes that ridiculous formula = no bond with baby theory.

The best advice I can give to expectant mummies, is go with the flow, and expect the unexpected.
Give it a go, you might be one of the lucky ones - you & your baby will take to it like ducks to water & it'll be great - but, be prepared to have to work at it, you're both learning! And, in case it doesn't go according to plan, have bottle-feeding equipment on hand as a back up plan, and DO NOT beat yourself up about using it.

Those first few weeks are far too precious to waste on a boobs vs. bottles guilt trip - and as long as your little one is full, nourished, and happy, you're doing a great job, regardless of what you're using to do it :)

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Eight weeks of baby bliss...

Have I really had him for 56 whole days already?
Apparently so.
Everyone tells you how fast time flies when these gorgeous little people finally join the world, but you don't appreciate how true that is until you're living it.
Or how brilliant every minute of it is :D

So other than the fact that my delicious little boy is the world's biggest time thief, here are 8 more lessons I've learned in my first 8 weeks of being a mummy:

1. new parents can survive on surprisingly little sleep.
(by survive, I do of course mean 'maintain basic body functions & do everything baby demands, when baby demands it.)
2. leaving the house is now a military operation. and no matter how many times you check the nappy bag, you'll ALWAYS forget something.
3. old people LOVE babies. admittedly, I live in Worthing, affectionately known as 'God's waiting room' on account of it's high percentage of pensioner-plus-aged residents, so maybe it's more noticeable, but they DO! not once have Dylan & I been out & about without at least one member of the older generation stopping to coo. which is nice really, but a little strange the first few times!
4. always , always, always, take a baby's socks off before his nappy. it's far easier to clean poo off his feet than his socks!!
5. and while we're in the nappy area - in the case of little boys - always make sure he is pointing DOWN! (they don't tell you THAT at ante-natal classes - took me several wet sleepsuits to work it out!!
6. it's amazing the amount of things you can learn to do one handed.
7. it's a tad embarassing when you forget to switch out of baby-talk mode before answering the phone. helllooooooo!! (luckily, it was only telesales!!)
8. a nappy full of what seems like more than baby's weight in poo, followed by an hour of inconsoleable crying, is forgotten in a flash when your baby grabs your finger and looks at you like you're his favourite thing in the world.

and when they start finding their smiles, as the little dude has done in the last few days, well there's absolutely nothing that can't fix.
it's the best thing in the world :)

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