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149
On time? Early even.
Alex is now 149 days old and is currently snoozing snorily in his Moses basket. Yes, he's still small enough to be in that. I'm not sure how heavy he is now because I didn't take him to be weighed this morning; he's coughing and sneezing with a cold and may infect other babies. He had his third set of jabs on Monday and also now has a post-immunisation fever which I'm trying to keep down with paracetamol, sponges and few clothes. I'm glad we already had 'flu (in the hospital) because I'm a lot more relaxed about this than I would be otherwise. Anyway, I am sitting in the bedroom near him (so I can respond quickly when he stirs and get some more paracetamol/fluids into him before he goes back to sleep) with books and a laptop, which gives me plenty of time to write a post for LJ while he snores.
He is growing, chubbed out a fair bit in the last couple of weeks and I think he may well outgrow his 0-3 months clothes a little ahead of 6 months. He's got short arms though. All his cardigans are hand-knitted by Granny (my mother) and she's now doing them with fewer rows on the arms. It's interesting how many (older) ladies comment on it being nice to see him in hand-knitted clothes; in the post office, library, Waitrose etc. This is, of course, after praising his big brown eyes and charming smile (if he's awake to regale them).
He now giggles - although he's fairly free with his smiles, giving them to all and sundry when we're out and about, we have to work for a giggle. He loves having a muslin square wafted down over his face, and gently pulled away with a cry of "Who's under there? It's Alex!" Sometimes he grabs the material and puts it to his mouth, deliberately holding on and giggling at me. Other times he flips the square off his face and looks up at me, as if to say "too slow, Mummy." He wants to play this game far beyond the time I'm bored and into the realms of tired arms and voice. He also likes having his hands and feet waved in time to music and any game where I touch and name or count his body parts. He has even objected when I pause or stop (e.g. to cough, answer the phone etc) in the middle of counting to 5 or 10 (while counting fingers and thumbs). My throat is sore for the amount of talking and singing by the end of the day; my day job was primarily typing.
He's not yet sitting up, but I don't think he's far off staying sat up once put down in that position, though he's happier sitting on a leg than on the floor. He's not shown very many signs of rolling either. He may take after his daddy![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hsenag in being "lazy". Achchi (Sinhalese for Granny) says when his daddy showed no signs of crawling she was advised to place a favourite toy out of reach so he'd have to go and get it. Apparently he moved a chair in order to get the leg to pull the toy towards him, rather than move himself.
Time flies and I'm getting ready for weaning. It feels like only yesterday we were learning how to bottle feed and burp. We've got the highchair, some bibs and some books on foods. My mother's just given me a better blender (having deplored the one I had which she gave me while I was still at Imperial, eons ago; we made soup the last time she was here and she thought it was horrendous.) I am about to have (when it arrives) a Kitchenaid Ultra which is what she has. It comes nearly completely apart and most components dishwash and are separately replaceable. I'm looking forward to using it. I'm thinking about a combination of puree and baby led weaning rather than totally one method or the other.
The world of mothers and mothers groups is very different from the previous one I inhabited. It's like you've just been allowed into a clique - and it can be very cliquey. There are a lot of activities for mothers and babies during the weekdays, and if a man dares to come along he's often not made to feel at ease but as an unusual specimen. It's very unfair. Conversation revolves around childcare and returning to work or not, food and poo.
Talking of poo, as I said on facebook, Alex's poo was smelling rather familiar. I couldn't place the smell (wasn't sure I wanted to). Thenhsenag said it "it smells like popcorn" (buttered, I think). My cinema-going days are forever tainted.
And on that salutory note, I shall end.
Alex is now 149 days old and is currently snoozing snorily in his Moses basket. Yes, he's still small enough to be in that. I'm not sure how heavy he is now because I didn't take him to be weighed this morning; he's coughing and sneezing with a cold and may infect other babies. He had his third set of jabs on Monday and also now has a post-immunisation fever which I'm trying to keep down with paracetamol, sponges and few clothes. I'm glad we already had 'flu (in the hospital) because I'm a lot more relaxed about this than I would be otherwise. Anyway, I am sitting in the bedroom near him (so I can respond quickly when he stirs and get some more paracetamol/fluids into him before he goes back to sleep) with books and a laptop, which gives me plenty of time to write a post for LJ while he snores.
He is growing, chubbed out a fair bit in the last couple of weeks and I think he may well outgrow his 0-3 months clothes a little ahead of 6 months. He's got short arms though. All his cardigans are hand-knitted by Granny (my mother) and she's now doing them with fewer rows on the arms. It's interesting how many (older) ladies comment on it being nice to see him in hand-knitted clothes; in the post office, library, Waitrose etc. This is, of course, after praising his big brown eyes and charming smile (if he's awake to regale them).
He now giggles - although he's fairly free with his smiles, giving them to all and sundry when we're out and about, we have to work for a giggle. He loves having a muslin square wafted down over his face, and gently pulled away with a cry of "Who's under there? It's Alex!" Sometimes he grabs the material and puts it to his mouth, deliberately holding on and giggling at me. Other times he flips the square off his face and looks up at me, as if to say "too slow, Mummy." He wants to play this game far beyond the time I'm bored and into the realms of tired arms and voice. He also likes having his hands and feet waved in time to music and any game where I touch and name or count his body parts. He has even objected when I pause or stop (e.g. to cough, answer the phone etc) in the middle of counting to 5 or 10 (while counting fingers and thumbs). My throat is sore for the amount of talking and singing by the end of the day; my day job was primarily typing.
He's not yet sitting up, but I don't think he's far off staying sat up once put down in that position, though he's happier sitting on a leg than on the floor. He's not shown very many signs of rolling either. He may take after his daddy
hsenag in being "lazy". Achchi (Sinhalese for Granny) says when his daddy showed no signs of crawling she was advised to place a favourite toy out of reach so he'd have to go and get it. Apparently he moved a chair in order to get the leg to pull the toy towards him, rather than move himself.Time flies and I'm getting ready for weaning. It feels like only yesterday we were learning how to bottle feed and burp. We've got the highchair, some bibs and some books on foods. My mother's just given me a better blender (having deplored the one I had which she gave me while I was still at Imperial, eons ago; we made soup the last time she was here and she thought it was horrendous.) I am about to have (when it arrives) a Kitchenaid Ultra which is what she has. It comes nearly completely apart and most components dishwash and are separately replaceable. I'm looking forward to using it. I'm thinking about a combination of puree and baby led weaning rather than totally one method or the other.
The world of mothers and mothers groups is very different from the previous one I inhabited. It's like you've just been allowed into a clique - and it can be very cliquey. There are a lot of activities for mothers and babies during the weekdays, and if a man dares to come along he's often not made to feel at ease but as an unusual specimen. It's very unfair. Conversation revolves around childcare and returning to work or not, food and poo.
Talking of poo, as I said on facebook, Alex's poo was smelling rather familiar. I couldn't place the smell (wasn't sure I wanted to). Then
hsenag said it "it smells like popcorn" (buttered, I think). My cinema-going days are forever tainted.And on that salutory note, I shall end.
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