This Diary of Motherhood is a series of weekly letters to my first baby, my little son who I call Baby Bird. I know not everyone wants to read about the highs and lows of motherhood so you can read non-baby related posts about travel, writing, freelancing or Amsterdam instead. Alternatively read one of my short stories or check out some book reviews and recommendations.
Dear Baby Bird.
At nine weeks old, and based on both the frequency, smiles and gusto with which you do them, these are the things you like:
- Sleeping... preferably in the nook of your dad's arm or pressed against my chest but you're pretty good now at hanging out in your own crib.
- Waking up in the morning. And thank goodness you do because that smile in the morning makes me forgive all manner of disruptions the night before.
- Me blowing raspberries on your stomach.
- Looking at yourself in the mirror though you're really not sure what's going on when you do...
- Hanging out on your play mat, a kind gift from two of my best friends. At first you only managed five minutes before getting fed up but now you can keep yourself happy staring up at the hanging toys for nearly forty-five minutes, a.k.a long enough for me to express some milk for later, make myself a cup of tea, eat a bowl of cereal and still have time to sit by your side and cheer you on.
- Listening to the musical bee hanging down above aforementioned play mat play the song "Frere Jacques" and despite my having a degree in French I still sing "soggy semolina" instead of "Sonnez les matines".
- Waving your arms around like a crazed conductor.
- Kicking your legs out and around with the speed of a synchronised swimmer.
- Tummy time; you've been showing off how strong your neck is since day six and we're still not bored of seeing this.
- Sucking your dummy. But only when you want to.
- Listening to your dad do his Optimus Prime voice.
- The "I'm Little But I Have Big Dreams" poster on the wall of your bedroom. I hope you know it's true.
- The bunting our good friend had made for you which spells out your name. You love it so much we draped it over your changing mat and it keeps you quiet when we (still!) struggle to poke your arms through sleeves and do the poppers up in the right place
- Lying on your dad's lap as he plays you some of Australia's finest early 90s pop music. I wonder how much Crowded House we will listen to in the coming years.
- Skyping with your many relatives. The last time we Skyped my mum and my nephew you just stared at the computer screen the whole time your chin sinking into your chest, like you were taking part in a very important conference call.
- Having your feet stroked. You seemed to melt a little when your dad did this in the very early hours of your life and we keep waiting for the "ticklish" reflex to kick in and stop this. Not yet, Little One, you're defying our expectations in these small, wonderful ways.
- Listening to me singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and My Baby Just Cares for Me by Nina Simone. I had no doubt your musical preferences would be eclectic.
- Waiting for me to sit down with a warm cup of tea and an open laptop in front of me and choosing that exact moment to wake from your nap and scream at the top of your lungs.
- Meeting new people... I'm so proud of how good you are when you get passed from one pair of loving arms to another. Stay that way!
Your only slightly sleep-deprived, increasingly proud, list-loving, crazy-in-love mother x
Frances M. Thompson
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