What can I say? It's been a busy few weeks. There's been a return to our usual programming plus baby, which is pretty ok except for the days that it's not. Those would be the days where my unwitting consumption of some dairy or soy derivative unhinges every wheel and sends them careening in all directions. Yes, there have been several mornings where we've had the delightful cycle known as "Feed, Chuck, Scream" running on high rotation while in the background I perform the complementary and lesser-known "Wipe, Wash, Hang, with the very special cadenza: Express-and-pour-away" for one pair of hands and breasts.
Audrey, you are thirteen weeks old tomorrow. Nearly three calendar months. Yes, I remember what life was like before you, but it's quite astonishing that you are so present and so here in the world when it's been such a short time. You've decided you're capable of sleeping seven and sometimes eight-hour stretches, which delights and gratifies us. You still cry for no apparent reason (usually pants, wind, hunger or plain old tiredness - which we, your idiot parents, only recognise in hindsight) but now you smile, and that balances out the niggly stretches nicely. Already you've spent more time in my violin studio than my students spend there in a year, and I wonder at what age you'll start humming or singing along. You fill out 000 Bonds Wondersuits and I love how cuddly you feel, like a small terry teddy bear. The sweetest times are our 4am feed, when you're the very smallest teaspoon in our big bed, or when you nap snuggled against my back or chest, wrapped and content. So far, so good, baby girl.