Sleep, suckling, and sparrows flatulence

"What in the wide wide world of sports did we used to do with all that spare time???"

We seem to remember asking ourselves this exact question when Master M was a wee lad, but now we look back at that era like we were fair dinkum bludging it in lazy land; we'll call it our Paxton phase.

Ok, so with the first babe you're wondering what in Fords name to do in every new and unusual circumstance, feeling out of your depth and the proverbial fish out of aqua all at the same time, and indeed it is hard yakka - dont get us wrong, but...
...with a second, while you know the ropes (well, vaguely remember stumbling through their tangles), everything has an added "other child" complexity factor that you never even dreamt about.

Lets, for example, take the seemingly simple act of sleep.

Sleep.
Ah yes, we remember you well.

While the lass is still feeding every 3-4 hours during the night, at least with number one you still had a vague choice about when you got up in the morning; i.e., if the bub had a feed at 5am you may well be able to rest till 8.
But when it comes to having bub number two, well, 8am... tell 'im he's dreaming.
Cos number one is up at 6am, or earlier if woken by number two feeding, and then thats it.

You're up sunshine.
Even if the sunshine isn't.

And it seems no amount of "Does the clock say 7? It isn't getting-up time till the clock says 7..." will cut it with the lad.
He wants up.

Not to mention that being spring and with twilight officially commencing at 6:05am, it means the birds are a chirpin' well before the alloted awakening hour, and hence Master M cant be convinced that the rest of the world is not up and about and watching Thomas the Tank Engine videos at such an unFordly hour.

"Birds are talking!"

Yes.
The birds are talking.
Thank you Mother Nature.

All that said, the little Miss is not too bad in the wee small hours, and has managed a couple of four and even five hour breaks between feeds during the hours of dark. Which is a pretty stunning turnaround from the first few days at home when night was day and day was night and its seemed never the twain shall meet.

She's an impressive learner this one.

Not to mention grower.
We're now up to 4.4kg and motoring along powered only on premium unleaded mum juice.
Sure she has already had her first cold, and sure she has had Krakatoa-like vomits (usually over mum and/or dad) that leaves you thinking there surely cant be anything left in the tummy, but it doesn't stop her coming back for more.
And more.

But then mum's glad for it too.
Indeed all the mums.
Being a second kiddie, we're still doing the weekly catch-up with the first kiddie mothers-group mums, a number of whom are also dealing with suckling infants.
At one such catch-up, dad was somewhat perplexed at the high correlation between a) infants crying, and b) new mums crossing their arms. Till it was explained that the wonders of evolution have resulted in a "let down" (as in milk) reflex which accompanies the cries of a newborn.
Even one that isn't your own.
Its kinda cute.
If not moist.

We're also now discovering the differences/joys between boys and girls.

First, pink is good.
Which is infact great when Dad puts the new red towel in the wash with the new white baby suits 'n booties and pinks the lot.
"Hey, who'll know - she looks great!"

Secondly, quicker nappy changes.
Dad reckons he's saving seconds every change by not having to check that the willy is pointing down and into the nappy, as opposed to up and allowing overtopping during wee wees.
("Thats potential extra sleep time gained right there...")

Finally, the boy.
Boy oh boy.
Theres a tad bit of jealousy going on, which is taking the form of random acts of naugthiness in order to get attention.
Any attention.
Which has also been accompanied by an apparent confusion between the english terms "why" and "how".

Hence the question "Why did you hit mummies arm?" is responded to by:
"I did it like this!"
...followed by a second, albeit lighter, demonstration arm whacking.

We know its not a put on cos when the question was:
"Why did you hit your head on the chair?"
he also tells us he did it like this...
...and clobbers himself again. Complete with "thats-gotta-hurt" factor.

And yes, we did indeed try rephrasing the question to:
"What were you thinking when you did that Michael?"
to which he paused, thought and answered;
"Wiggles!"

Fair enough hairy mutt. (At least he's honest.)

Finally, Mike has also supplied us with his version of whats happened over the past few weeks.

In his own words, here is the Michael Henry Watkins abridged version of this very blog;

"Sarah was in mummy's tummy.
Then in her house. {i.e., the house of blue light humidicrib}
Then she came to visit."

She's here to stay lad.
She's here to stay.

(You reckon we get bags under our eyes like this for mere drop ins?)

Postscript: Sarah's first brush with "fame"... Mum noticed a nice chap at the next table making goo-goo eyes at lil Miss S while mum and dad were having a coffee and filling out Ms S' official Birth Registration form at Ricketts Point Cafe'. Mum had no idea who it was, but dad pointed out it was Paul Mecurio. We figured either he was admiring her twinkle toes or wondering what she'd taste like (with a nice beer of course), but he came ..t.h.i.s.. close to being asked to sign as witness on Miss S' birth certification. (We chose our wonderful friend Lyn.)

Postscript II: To all the incredible mums from the mothers group who have brought us dinners (one every Monday and Wednesday!) - you are amazing.
And we're so lucky.
Thank you.

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