Sunday, October 7
Four Months (and a bit)
You've learnt all kinds of new tricks lately. You can laugh out loud - especially when we whizz you through the air or blow raspberries on your belly. You can hold things with two hands, which means everything goes straight in your mouth. You can roll over onto your belly, but can't quite get back yet, so you make a really sad little struggly noise that makes me want to wrap you up in a blanket and protect you forever in a warm, safe, bundle of love.
For about a month you were sleeping through the night - we couldn't quite believe our luck. But this week, you've started to wake again. But that's OK. I still think you'r e perfect, even if I do have a few more dark circles.
You've also made me more emotional. I mean, I was really emotional before, but now anything sets me off. I went to the bakery to get me and your dad a nice custard slice the other day and popped into the Co-op to have a look at the magazines. On the cover of OK was Charlotte Church and her new baby. I had a flick through and started reading the interview, all about her home birth. Next thing I know, I've got tears in my eyes and have to go and hide up the household cleaning aisle and compose myself.
I think this is one of the cutest stages of babyhood, because you're still so little and vulnerable and cute, but you respond to things too. Sometimes when I look at you, I can't quite believe that you're real. Your skin is so perfect and glowing, and your smile totally lights up the room - it's as if you are a magical creature.
In a way, I can't wait for you to grow up so we can run around with Blod and make cakes and do painting and visit farms to pat bunnies. But part of me wants you to stay like this forever.
I've never really been good at anything before, but I hope I can be a really great mother because you deserve nothing less.
You're the best little snail I could ever have hoped for.