Master Jones has lifted his head and chest off of the floor for the very first time this week. He's getting rather good at it and does it (rather alarmingly) at the same time as making crawling gestures with his legs - hmmmm. He's also rolled over a few times - more by accident than design we think - he cries with shock each time he does it. So that would be the steps forwards.
To counterbalance all that cleverness he appears to have forgotten how to go to bed nicely and how to settle back to sleep after his first feed. This could be down to the fact that he's moved into his big boy cot - but really he's been playing in it and sleeping in his moses basket in it for weeks so the fuss really isn't necessary! We're hoping it's just a temporary glitch.
Earlier in the week he decided he just didn't like eating either - a screaming paddy ensued every time I suggested he might like to feed for more than five minutes. Perhaps he just wasn't hungry, he didn't seem particularly bothered by it all. I on the other hand felt most unloved and quite put out that my carefully manufactured meals were being shunned. The poor boobies decided that they'd just have to empty themselves he wasn't going to do it - which just added to my misery and embarrassment. Grr Babies.
Despite the hunger strike he weighed in at 12lb 5oz on Friday and the health visitor confirmed my fear that the weird eating pattern might have something to do with what looks suspiciously like a tooth under his gum!
On the upside Mr Jones has had some time off and we've had some much needed family time. He and the little grizzler have had lots of cuddles and I got to do aerobics and have my eyebrows waxed - hurrah. I didn't realise how much I missed time to myself and a good workout. I now feel like a human being and no longer look like a freckly albino (alright I know that albinos can't be freckly - but seriously my eyebrows had faded to whiter than white and had grown so much that they were trying to move in with my eyelashes - it was not pretty!)
We have a technical glitch this end in the computer has died so I will upload some pictures once it's all fixed - which I'm hoping won't be long.
....I married Mr Jones - hurrah. And what a year it's been. I can't believe we're a family already. I never imagined a year ago today that we'd have a baby by our first anniversary. The wedding seems ages ago, but at the same time just a few moments in the past. It almost seems like a dream now (especially when it comes to fitting in that dress again!).
We certainly tested our vows. Poor Mr Jones spent the first four months of his married life looking after me, the cats and the house. Cooking me whatever weird concoction of food I thought I might fancy and then watching, patiently, while I threw it all back up again. The thought of baked beans, fish fingers and smash now makes my toes curl. But we got through it.
Then there was pregnancy insomnia, my sudden hatred of being pregnant which meant he found me inconsolably sobbing on more than one occasion. And of course the hideous labour - throughout which he held my hand and whispered words of encouragement in my ear. The relief on his face and through his tears at the end of it all spoke volumes.
And now of course we have sleepness nights and Mr Jones is struggling a bit to get to grips with fatherhood. But we're getting through it all together and despite the grumpy words at 3am and the scowls through another screaming fit (the baby - not us) we still love each other - and plan to for many years to come.
He's getting big - he now weighs 11lb 14 and a half ounces. Though I'd swear he was more like two stone! It's a tricky time - he's got past the newborn "I just want to sleep all day" phase, but hasn't quite reached the "I'm happy to be put down and play on my playmat" stage as yet. So he spends the majority of the day awake and demanding to be carried about so that he can be generally nosey, which is a tad tiring. It also makes getting anything done hard (see Mrs Jones trying to mop the bathroom floor with a baby on one arm or hang out washing one handed)
He had his first lot of injections this week. Bless him - he was doing his best flirting with the doctor as she did his check up and then she repaid him by stabbing him in both thighs with giant needles. He was not a happy boy and spent the next few minutes doing his purple faced screaming cry. Suffice to say that she won't be getting his lovely smiles in the future.
We had some glorious nights of sleep - he was tucked up in bed by 7.30/8pm and managed to make it all the way through until 2am one night. He'd eaten and was back asleep by 3am and then snuggled up with me in bad at 5am (without eating) and slept until 7.15. However this was all ruined by two nights of leaky pampers - rah - which had us back to waking up at 11.30pm and then again at 3.30am for food - rubbish. We're hoping he gets back to the long sleeps again soon.
This week was tough. Mr Jones was in Scotland and Master Jones had awful wind - of the trapped variety. We have now changed the Boomtown Rats Song to Tell me why do I hate Wednesdays?. Rufus it seems isn't a fan of Wednesdays - if he's not grumpy during the day then he will be come bedtime.
This Wednesday he was so hacked off that he decided it wasn't even worth sleeping past 11.45pm! I spent the whole night carrying him around trying to get him to go back to sleep and stop grizzling. People keep asking me how I've lost my baby weight so fast - well people if you have an 11lb baby to carry around permanently you'd lose weight fast too - jiggling burns lots of calories. My mummy was my saviour. Sometimes only a mummy will do. She took the little monster off my hands at 5am to let me get some precious sleep. She discovered that this sleeping position is good for Rufus' with wind. Rufus loves his Granny - she likes to play - lots. Thank you mummy for being such a star.
This week he seems to have discovered his tongue and delights in poking it out at every opportunity and giving things a good lick.
Someone cuddle me. Let me lick your ears and chew your hair. Let me wind round your legs and try to trip you down the stairs. Let me curl up on your tummy while you snooze on the sofa and let me jump in bed with you and burrow under the duvet every morning.
I used to do all this with Mummy. But I've been replaced by a monster that cries a lot and has stolen all my cuddles.
I try to help when he's being washed and changed by climbing up Mummy's jeans. When he's being fed I lick his feet and try to lick his head - he tastes funny. I've tried to lick his hands too but Mummy seems to get a bit cross about that.
I've let him stroke me (though I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose) and it made him smile. I think one day we might be friends - but right now I just want my Mummy back - her fleeting cuddles aren't enough.
Another busy week. Mr Jones turned 30. Rufus graduated into size two nappies and out of his newborn clothes.
We've learnt a lot. Mr Jones learnt that hangovers and babies do not, under any circumstances, mix. I've learnt that I don't like anyone else to look after Rufus and that I can't bear to be separated from him for any extended length of time.
Call me clingy. call me possessive but I just don't like handing him over. Maybe it's because I spent nine horrible months making him and vomiting all the while - or maybe it's just normal? But everytime I hand him to someone else I worry that they're going to damage him - and if they do I'd never forgive them, so in my mind it's just simpler to keep him all to myself. (Hear the Daily Mail readers tutting and the feminists of the world bewailing the introduction of another pampered Mummy's boy!)
I've also learnt that being a mother brings with it a hefty dose of guilt. I constantly feel guilty. Guilty that I can't comfort him when he cries sometimes. Guilty that I haven't quite got enough to milk to satisfy his hunger somedays. Guilty that I don't want to let anyone else have him. Guilty that I catch him with a nail. Guilty that I've given him a dummy. Guilty that he has to go in his car seat. Guilty that the poor cats are supremely neglected (bless them). Guilty that all I want to eat is sweet stuff and carbs and not fruit and veg (although frankly I blame him for that because it's clearly down to lack of sleep and a need for instant energy to get me through the day) and guilty that I might not be doing everything right.
Rufus has learnt that his legs are attached to his body and that he can kick them, he's learnt to giggle a bit and to suck his fingers (bring on the thumb sucking so I can get rid of the dummy and won't have to keep getting up to put it back in when he's trying to settle himself to sleep). He's also worked out how to have the most disturbing tantrums and turn his face purple for what seems like absolutely no reason - they're always when he's got a clean nappy, a full tummy and has been burped and cuddled. Most odd - hopefully he'll get over it soon.
He's also still gorgeous and we took so many pictures of him I couldn't choose just four. He's growing up fast and is starting to look like a proper little boy.
This week we managed to catch his smile - yes he is smiling even if he looks like he's about to cry. He still hasn't quite worked out how to do smiles and giggles without them turning into a bit of a grizzle. Smiling is hard work when you're five weeks old.
We went back to the hospital and thankfully the jaundice isn't sinister and should clear up of its own accord - hurrah - no liver transplants here thank you very much scary health visitor.
We're also trying cranial osteopathy. I like a good airy fairy therapy and lots of people rave about it and say it helps to calm babies down. Master Jones screamed through the first session and did an enormous poo. He grizzled and wouldn't settle all that night but the following night he slept from 7.30pm-Midnight - which was unheard of and gave us some much needed rest. He was also a complete treasure at baby massage too and let me get through most of the routine. In previous weeks he's either slept through the whole class or screamed the first time I touched him.
Mr Jones and others think it's all a prodigious waste of money but I'm willing to give it a go for a few weeks. I just like to feel like I'm doing something to help him feel less tense and stressed - and I think it's working. Plus I'm his mum and I'll do what I like!
The little porker now weighs 11lbs 5oz (after the hospital appointment we thought he weighed a whopping 11lb 7oz - but it seems the midwife wasn't very adept at converting kg to lbs). I am developing a rather large left bicep and I'm now conciously trying to carry him on the other side for fear of ending up with Nadal-esque wonky arms.
Mrs Jones is a far from yummy mummy with a penchant for M&S fudge bars and a mojito on a Friday night. She became Mrs Jones in 2009 and a mummy in 2010. In 2011 she is attempting to remember her own name and not put washing powder in the dishwasher....