You're a falling star, you're a getaway car You're the line in the sand when I go to far You're a swimming pool on an August day, you're the perfect thing to say....
We like a bit of Michael Buble in this house - the man has magical powers over small babies who are in grumpy moods. Everything is our song. We dance around the kitchen to it. Something slightly terrifying has happened to me since giving birth - I've suddenly started dancing like a mum(!) - to be more specific - like my mum. A sort of side to side bum wiggle with a flick of the hips at each side and a flex of the knees inbetween. Hmmmm. My dad always warned me that I'd turn into her - I guess it's happening. I don't really mind - she's lovely and there are definitely worse people to turn into. I'd hate to be Catherine Zeta Jones - I can't stand that woman - but that's besides the point.
So we've hit the hallowed 12 weeks and we've survived. We had the injections and Rufus slept until 4.30am. I, of couse, was awake at 1am, with exploding bosoms and my ear pressed to the monitor convinced that he had contracted meningitis from the jab and was most obviously dead. At 3am I allowed myself in to his room to check on him. He was alive and sleeping nicely - phew. The long sleep was short lived however and we were back to an 11.30 jibber and a 1.30 wake up for a feed again the next night - rats.
The last 12 weeks have surprised me in lots of ways. I'm surprised at how much I can love someone I've only just met, how every little thing he does amazes me (and bores everyone else I'm sure). I'm amazed that I can function on just three hours sleep and at how much my life has changed. I do miss an afternoon nap on the sofa on a rainy day though.
What I really love is how Rufus seems to make other people happy. Now that he faces outwards in his sling he gets a lot of attention when we go out. Old women stop us and tell me he's gorgeous (I know) and try to grab his hands and stroke his cheek (not appreciated by either of us). Stamford school girls squeal with delight and say "ahhh what a cute baby - I want one" and then scamper off talking about when they get married and have kids. The women in the bank and the post office love him - and he flirts with them. But the times I love most are when we cross the path of a grumpy looking business man - they look at his face and smile, then laugh to themselves and give me a knowing look. Some of them apologise for staring and then say wistfully - "I remember that time....they just get more naughty you know." Then they wander off with a smile - hopefully thinking of happier times and cheered up for the rest of the day - just because they happened to bump into my jolly little man.
PS - you may have noticed that the quality of the photography is vastly improved - these were taken but the lovely Ruth Jenkinson - an absolute star, marvellous friend and very talented lady.
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....