1. The lactation consultant sits me down in the most comfortable chair in the room -- a soft padded blue rocker -- and asks me all about the labour. Then she shows me a lovely gentle way of getting Alec to latch on (none of the shape and cram that they taught us in hospital), which also deals with his habit of grabbing at my tender nipples with his hand.
2. I'm getting to know Alec's flip book of expressions. There's his big blue eyed, wide mouthed look, which is very easy to love; and a sly sideways glance -- "He's like you when he does that," says Nick. Less loveable is his Daily Mail face, a severe and fearful frown that he puts on when we hold him under the arms for winding. We tease him that the price of moses baskets is plummeting, that baby grows give you cancer and that immigrants are stealing my milk. He is unimpressed. Put him down, and he creases up his brow and makes a rosebud mouth, waves his hands so anxiously that I jump to reassure him about something, anything at all. "This too will pass, Alec."
3. Nick comes back from his errands in town with three baby grows in manly blues.
