March 2013: a snapshot

I write this post propped up on pillows in a dark bedroom. 

To my left, three-year-old Fred slumbers peacefully in the middle of the bed, half under the duvet. He needs a haircut, but I haven't got around to it since his brother was born. He has had a good day, apart from the sadness of leaving Auntie Liz's house to go to a cafe for breakfast, and the further frustration at having to put on his coat because it was snowing. (After breakfast he was not made to wear a coat, and happily trotted along Portobello Road in a short-sleeved t-shirt and tank top. We drew concerned glances from passers by, but I resolutely ignored them. I'd rather have a happy cold child than a miserable one in a coat he doesn't want to wear).

 

Three-week-old Arthur, naked except for a nappy, lolls in a milky daze on my chest. He squeaks in his sleep. He sleeps for about 20 hours a day - mostly in my or his dad's arms - waking a couple of times a day to peer quietly at me. When he gets hungry, he will start to chirrup and squawk, like a baby dragon. So far, he has been a very easy baby, clearly signalling his need for food / sleep / sitting upright to gawp at bright lights. In a while I will lie down, cradling him in the crook of my right arm all night, and when we wake in the night I will not look at the clock.

This is us in March 2013.