Saturday, 26 March 2011

There's A Lot Of It About

I have neglected by blog lately; the household has been plagued with sickness for the last ten days. Apparently, There's A Lot Of It About. Isn't there always? Only Gertie has so far escaped.

At first, Gilby had a number of what can at best be described as 'unhappy nappies'. I put this down to teething, and we had a couple of more-than-usually-unsettled nights.

When I started feeling unwell on Saturday with stomach cramps, I thought nothing much at first. With number three now on the way, I had expected a little nausea. I got worse. To the point where I started thinking about phoning midwives or doctors. I didn't remember experiencing this amount of pain with the previous two pregnancies.

Then Daddy started throwing up. I've never been so delighted to see anyone else being sick! (Sorry Daddy, but this meant an ordinary bug rather than something more sinister and complicated relating to the baby.) So - hooray! All was well. If you see what I mean.

But poor old Gilby was going downhill, and was in too much pain to let his extremely raw nappy skin be touched. "No-oo-oo-ooo," he squealed, trying to hold his body away. "It's all right, it's all right," I kept repeating, aiming to soothe the little man. This became his tearful mantra for a few days: "It's all right. It's all right." He tried to convince himself. Not even the Sock Game could perk him up. (This is the one where they both sit on the bed and Daddy bowls rolled up socks at the pair of them repeatedly amidst much squeals and laughter. I don't really understand it, myself.)

"There's a lot of it about," said the doctor, when we finally took Gilby along to be checked out.

"There's a lot of it about," said the nursery staff, as we explained why Gilby wouldn't be there this week.

And, "There's a lot of it about," said my boss, as I told him I was expecting.

Saturday, 12 March 2011

When the Wind Blows


Gertie is never short of a question, or an opinion. Here's last night's conversation over the dinner table.

"Mum, why can't you see the wind?"

(Stumped briefly) "Um. That is a very good question. Let me just think about that for a moment." (Racking brains for some kind of plausible scientific response...)

"Shall I tell you, Mummy?"

"Oh. Yes. Ok, then, please."

"Well, it's because the wind is actually the breath of a man with a big cloud head. So it's breath. That's why you can't see it."

Move over Professor Brian Cox.

Meanwhile, Gilby has been busy circumnavigating the safety gate put at the top of the stairs purely for his benefit. I caught him climbing through the banisters whilst the stair gate was closed. This is far more dangerous than simply going up and down the stairs.

Both gifted in their different ways...

Sunday, 6 March 2011

Sport and Sleep


Ssh. Don't tell anyone, but Gilby has slept through for the third night in a row.

This is the first time in his nineteen months. We have had the odd night, of course, but never three consectutive nights. Up until now we have taken it badly, too, since his elder sister had read the script, knew that you had to sleep through from twelve weeks old and did it perfectly. So we didn't know about these other babies, the ones that do not sleep.

I don't know whether to get excited or not...probably not.

Meanwhile, Gertie has decided that because her mother is such an Arsenal fan she will take on the persona of Arsene Wenger, frequently shrugging her shoulders, Gallic-fashion, and claiming nonchalantly, "I did not see it."

This is usually following a scream from a room where only Gertie and her brother were present. I am amazed by her capacity never to have witnessed what has just happened to cause her brother mortal pain or terror.