Rufus went to Southwold - a place of many happy childhood, teenage and grown up memories for me, and for him too in years to come I hope. He had fun, had many cuddles with Granny, Pops and Aunty Rach. We both came home with a cold - but we survived.
He started solids. Baby led weaning is messy. Purees make him gag unless they are very runny. He'd rather just eat sticks of roasted sweet potato and carrot, tuck into homemade stew (he even ate a bit of beef) and isn't adverse to pasta bake (apart from today when he threw a paddy and swept a good deal of it onto the kitchen floor - it seems today he only wants to eat pureed pear. I don't blame him - some days I just want to eat pureed pear). He seems to be producing little chunky rolls of fat on his wrists and thighs so I'm hoping when I get him weighed this week he might be heading in the right direction on the chart thingys.
Rufus went to visit the Williams' - he bought a hairband from Princess Lucy's shop. We all bought hairbands in fact - and had to wear them - even Mr Jones.
He's learnt how to roll over and he never sits still. He's seen his first snow and the other day I swear he made a noise that sounded like "Rufus" - but it was probably just a fluke! He has swum under water on his own, which is impressive and terrifying in equal measure, but don't tell him I scared, I'm very good at perma smiles to hide horror - I do them when he's choking on quarters of apricot and when he pours water all over himself and the floor and when he rubs pasta bake into his ears. And when he poos on my hand - but that is another story....
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