10 weeks old...

Exactly ten weeks ago I was lying in a hospital bed and gazing adoringly at my sleeping boy, ignoring the midwife's pleas to "try to get some sleep". Sleep! It was the furthest thing from my mind, despite how exhausted — physically, mentally, emotionally — I was. These days when he's asleep I work at speed to get things done... I write in here when I can, I put on and hang out washing, I clean the kitchen, I prepare a quick — usually unexciting — meal, I check my email, I make phone calls. I never really obeyed the "sleep when your baby sleeps" advice.

We've been busy! Otis celebrated his first Easter in style... He wore a pair of blue satin bunny ears to Mass, gorgeously co-ordinated, of course, with a white Bonds Wondersuit. Mum called it an "Anne Geddes moment". I couldn't agree more! I try not to be one of those mother's who uses their baby as an accessory, but he really was absolutely, undeniably adorable. Next Easter he'll be wolfing down chocolate and making a mess... Never again will he look so pure and untarnished!

He's growing up! In both the literal and figurative sense... He's getting so tall, soon he won't fit in his little bed, and since I'm not sure that we can feasibly move the cot into our room, I guess he'll be in his own room before we know it. He can hold his head up now for about 5 minutes or so at a time — I help him practise sitting my holding him by the hands and lifting him into a sitting position. He looks around quite proudly in these moments! He's starting to get quite cheeky... When I had him all wrapped and ready for sleep an hour ago, he kept spitting out his dummy and giving me these sneaky, giggling grins. It was frustrating, but, really, I couldn't help but laugh! He goes for his dummy less and less these days — he's more interested in stuffing his entire fist into his mouth, and drooling all over himself and whoever is caring for him.

He's still suffering from reflux... In fact, I think it may be getting worse. He tends to bring the milk back up, all chunky, creamy and curdled, about an hour after each feed, and when he does he grimaces ever so slightly. We go through numerous bibs per day, and he's got Mylanta on tap. It doesn't appear to be troubling him too much, though, so I'm not having it investigated any further at this point.

Our nights are getting better and better all the time. He now goes down, in his own bed, which is parked a centimetre or two from mine, anytime between 7 and 8, and usually takes about half an hour to properly drift off. He then usually sleeps for a fairly lengthy spell, anywhere between 4 and 7 hours, before waking for his first feed. After that he stays in with me, and wakes every 3 hours until around 5, when he's up for the day! I'll try to pat him back to sleep, but he just stares at me with those big, dark eyes, and smiles defiantly, knowing his little face will win me over. Once he's been changed I read to him — Kidogo, Peter Rabbit, ABC, Hug — he's got a few favourites. We usually follow this with a song or two — Old McDonald (and on that farm he had an Otis... Wah-wah here... Wah-wah there... You get the picture!), Kookaburra Sits In The Old Gum Tree, Chin Up, You Are My Sunshine. I need to increase my repertoire!

I am finally at a point where I can say that I feel confident as a mother. I think I know my baby really well and am able to meet all his needs. It's a great feeling! We still have our dark moments, however. But these days I am better at managing my own feelings and frustrations. I think, having done this for as long as I have now, I know that the "witching hour" (around 6 'til 7 in the evening) is just that, an hour at most... I know that as soon as I get to breaking point, as soon as my cries join his, things inevitably get better, he tires and starts to settle, forgets why he was fussing in the first place. Bad days are over fairly quickly, and his smiles are truly magical — they have the power to make me forget... Phil is great at jumping in when I can't cope... I'm lucky to be with someone who knows me so well and can read me like an open book.