Babies make you busy. This blog (or lack of for quite a long time) testifies to that. The baby's first birthday has come and gone - strawberry and cream cake with balloons everywhere and the presence of many grandparents seemed satisfactory to him, he ate lots, played with the balloons and enjoyed the attention - as well as a trip to Ireland to visit his cousins - and their myriad of animals which pleased him a great deal but not as much as the discovery that tractors are real, not just in books! Joy!
Meanwhile I have been rushing about replacing lost passports (left behind on plane) in readiness for a trip to the US - very stressful and no time to be writing anything except forms forms and more forms.
Today the baby is poorly, he threw up and sat about looking sad and tired so an early nap seemed called for. I hope when he wakes he will be able to take some water or milk without it coming straight back up again. It always frightens me (in the deep dark secret bits of your brain hidden beneath the logic that it's probably just a tummy bug or something he ate) to put him to sleep when he is ill, in a room where I can't see him and monitor him, afraid he might get worse or die or something. I know he'll be fine, but the dark bits of you worry in these moments.
But yesterday the sun shone and he was well. We played in the garden and giggled at peeping at each other through the windows of a tent/sun-shelter and for one brief second, as he let go of one hold and reached for another, he stood up, unaided. He didn't realise it and I wished the moment had lasted longer so I could truly have reveled in it and congratulated him, but there he was, standing, holding on to thin air.
Things are going to get busier.
Meanwhile I have been rushing about replacing lost passports (left behind on plane) in readiness for a trip to the US - very stressful and no time to be writing anything except forms forms and more forms.
Today the baby is poorly, he threw up and sat about looking sad and tired so an early nap seemed called for. I hope when he wakes he will be able to take some water or milk without it coming straight back up again. It always frightens me (in the deep dark secret bits of your brain hidden beneath the logic that it's probably just a tummy bug or something he ate) to put him to sleep when he is ill, in a room where I can't see him and monitor him, afraid he might get worse or die or something. I know he'll be fine, but the dark bits of you worry in these moments.
But yesterday the sun shone and he was well. We played in the garden and giggled at peeping at each other through the windows of a tent/sun-shelter and for one brief second, as he let go of one hold and reached for another, he stood up, unaided. He didn't realise it and I wished the moment had lasted longer so I could truly have reveled in it and congratulated him, but there he was, standing, holding on to thin air.
Things are going to get busier.
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