1) It is three AM. I am holding a tired, congested, cranky baby who is burrowing his face against my neck and thrashing around as he attempts to settle nad sleep. I am stroking his face to calm him down, but just as he drifts off his equally overtired father starts snoring and Matei immediately perks up and lifts his head like a meercat trying to locate the source of the noise. I therefore spend the next half hour alternatively stroking the baby's head and kicking Z in the shin to get him to stay awake. It's a bit like being a Medieval Inquisitioner. 'Confess Heathen! No sleep for you! Confess!'
2) Having spent two nights in Matei's room holding him until he drifts off and then putting him down in his own bed only to have him wail piteously, we have given up the fight and put the baby into our bed. He finds this deeply relaxing and spends the night thrashing around happily alternating between headbutting me and kicking Z. This is both an argument against co-sleeping and a demonstration of what you put up with when you
In fact, I was so tired the next day that I just lay down in the baby's playpen and when he began pulling my hair I didn't register this as assault so much as an opportunity for him to occupy himself with something while I had a nap.
Babies! They are so odd!
To Matei there are few things more loatsome than nose drops but few things more beautiful than their container. It is one of his favourite toys.
Also, today he spent a happy half hour playing with the cat's carrier box, opening the door, putting something inside it, closing the door; then opening the door, retrieving the object, closing the door; repeating this.
I am extremely fond of this game, since it causes minimal mess and allows me to doze on the sofa.
Mojo is the best cooking ingredient ever. I add it to everything that touches a pan, and it is certainly its magic (rather than say, love) which has made Z proclaim he would pay good money for my risotto.
The air smells of snow.