Wednesday, 15 February 2012
Yep, we're smitten. Utterly and totally. He is everything a new baby should be: scrumptious, sweet smelling (well, most of the time), gurgling and cuddly. The vast majority of his life thus far has been spent cradled in various arms, being passed around from auntie to auntie like a much desired pass the parcel present.
If his first week's behaviour is anything to go by, we've possibly lucked out. He only gets annoyed when he's:
b) getting changed (and hence chilly)
When this happens he turns bright red (hence my nickname) and does this sort of arpeggio squeak which climbs two octaves and for all intents and purposes sounds like Sesame Streets' 'Count Dracula' "Ah-ah-ah!"
He wakes only once in the night for a post-bedtime snack, and then will sleep happily till at least 8 a.m....what's not to love?
But if you're thinking it's all been smooth sailing and I'm the luckiest girl on the planet, let me assure you that it's not been completely textbook.
Turns out my body decided to repeat it's trick performance of crippling me with a painful uterine infection several days after a fairly straightforward birth. Saturday night found me cajoling the cash strapped NHS into making a home visit to determine whether I needed to be hospitalised for what I was realising was a fast developing infection.
A doctor who very much resembled the musician Seal came into our front room and found me prostate on the sofa clutching my lower abdomen and pleading with him to prescribe me antibiotics because there was no way in h___ I was going to check my newborn and myself into hospital on one of the coldest nights of the year and be strapped up to an infernal I.V. (NO BLOODY WAY I might add, given the whole reason I have put myself through the torment of natural birth three times has been due to my pathetic needle phobia!)
The doctor looked dubious but agreed that I could probably get away with home care and instead prescribed me two hardcore antibiotics which in conjunction with painkillers, might get me through the worst of it.
So here I sit, at home, still not 100%, but infinitely better than I was on the weekend, and contemplating a 'dry' Valentine's Day. So much for a lusty glass of dark red wine over dinner. It's going to be strictly water for me I'm afraid, but given that the alternative might have been a reheated ready meal in a busy ward - I'm not complaining.
Happy Valentine's Day everyone, and may today see your respective others showering you with well intentioned trinkets (which do NOT include teddy bears, 'petrol station petals', or cheesy sex cards....), a nice meal, or a proper cuddle.
As for me, I suspect Valentine's Day 2012 is going to consist of a three-way cuddle with the new guy - who despite our best efforts - refuses to spend even a minute in his moses basket and instead sleeps contentedly night after night, with the husband and I. A position I suspect he's not going to give up without a fight :)
Posted by "Moaning Mum" at Wednesday, February 15, 2012