Sunday, March 18, 2012

At 6am, weekend breakfast and easily pleased.

1. At 6am, Nick hands me a red-faced grumplet to look after. I am not grateful, but I climb back into the big bed and try to parent well. Milk is not what he wants; and nor is a toy.
I've been reading about skin-to-skin for poorly babies, so I strip off his pyjamas and my vest and try to cuddle him. He is all knees and elbows and anger and sharp, sharp nails.
I release him and he sits there roaring at me and clawing his nappy. "Nappy change?" I ask him. More fury -- but I don't know what other variables to alter, so I strip him right off and wrap a towel round his bum.
He relaxes, smiles, snuggles up to me for some bub and
the next thing we know, we are being woken by a rather surprised Nick at 9am.

2. I don't much like waiting to eat in the morning, but I do enjoy the bake-from-frozen croissants and cup of coffee that are my weekend breakfast.

3. "I love fish fingers," says Nick when I (only half-joking) put them on the lunch menu. So we have them (Alec likes them, too).