17 weeks old - hello 3am (again)

Hey Mama, what you doing? Are you taking pictures again? You're nearly as bad as Granny.


It doesn't matter what noises you make - I'm not going to look at the camera.


Mama, have you ever tried fingers? They're tasty.


I can push one hand right in with the other one. It means I can get my fingers all the way to the back of my throat and make myself gag!


See how slimey they are - in a minute I'm going to give you a cuddle and wipe them all over your face and neck to show you how much I love you.


What do you mean you'd rather I didn't? Love you Mama xxx

I knew writing it down was a bad idea. Rufus appears to have forgotten how to sleep until 5ish. We've been back up at 3ish instead. I hate 3ish. By then you've just about had enough sleep to survive, but not quite enough to feel like a human being. And while Rufus happily nods back off post feed, I'm wide awake and watching reruns of Frasier.

He's also learnt to bite me during feeds and delights in practicing this new skill at every opportunity. Apparently you're not supposed to react(!) for fear of scaring your baby(!!) - this is easier said that done when you have some very hard gums clamped around your nipple. There have been times when I have wanted to throw him across the room and the odd squeal and some very sharp intakes of breath have escaped me. The purple tube of nipple cream has been recovered from the depths of a draw in a vain attempt to soothe the damage. Happily having the heating on means I can stick it on the radiator to soften it up so that I can actually squeeze it out of the tube.

His first feed of the day is a bit of a struggle too - apparently there is nothing quite so exciting as my bedside lamp - despite the fact that it is sitting there, doing exactly the same thing as it was doing at exactly the same time the day before. That and the radio alarm clock can capture his attention for hours (unless I'd actually like them to so I could get one with something else - in which case he wouldn't be at all interested).

He's also been a bit distracted by my morning toast. (Weird things happen when you have babies - I have never eaten toast - but I had some straight after he was born and have eaten it everyday since. Mr Jones makes it for me every morning - one slice of marmite and one of marmelade, cut into triangle, to be eaten alternately). Anyway - young Rufus has started noticing what I put into my mouth and took advantage of my being momentarily distracted by the news to grab a slice and squidge it between his fingers. He then proceeded to lick the marmelade off of his fingers. The weaning books don't seem to mention marmelade as a first food, but I don't suppose it will kill him - it hasn't done so far anyway.

Despite all of this he is still very gorgeous.