Baptised!

I really wish I had finished my thesis draft before Otis was born! But the whole cholestasis scare put paid to that plan... I just have to accept that things are the way they are, and work at finishing it. I feel a little guilty, I suppose, at having time away from him that doesn't equate with more money. I mean, I guess it will generate money, in an indirect fashion, at some point, but...

OK, enough. Otis was baptised on Sunday, Bart's 19th birthday. It was a rainy day, and quite cool, but the wonderful company warmed my heart, as did my baby's beauty! He looked so damn cool, if I, his stylist, do say so myself. He wore a tuxedo t-shirt from Rock Your Baby, white cords, a white Pure Baby cardigan, and custom made leather shoes, black with a white letter O on one foot, and a J on the other.

He behaved quite well during the ceremony, other than a few restless whimpers that Phil explained signalled the devil being exorcised! Well, they did start a few moments after the exorcism prayer... He sucked fairly furiously on his dummy, which annoyed Mum and many other snap-happy photographers, but all I cared about was keeping him calm.

We had a simple morning tea of sandwiches, dips and slices, and a few champagnes with which to celebrate. Phil and I cut the cake after I made a short, impromptu, tear-inducing speech — unusual for me, a non-crier for the most part, but mothering tends to turn on the waterworks.

Other than that, things have been as they usually are... A combination of ecstatic joy, cuddles and laughs, and tension induced by broken sleep and my baby's seeming constipation. It all got moving again last week, he pooed once a day, and I was happy, but it's now been about 5 days, and he slept fitfully, waking almost hourly, squirming in pain until he managed a fart. He's in with me most of the night, once again, but I am aiming to have him sleeping in his cot all night long before the end of winter, which is when he'll be moving into his own room. Am I dreaming? Maybe.

He's doing a few new things... Blowing raspberries at the most inopportune moments — when he's supposed to be sleeping, or mid-cry. He's a happy little thing, smiling and babbling away, and shoving everything, no matter how awkwardly shaped or massive, into his mouth. He's now enjoying a diet of Farex, stewed pears, and stewed apples. I am trying to give him only home-cooked food (when it's convenient — sometimes it's just not feasible), which he does seem to enjoy much more than the jars from Coles. He's still rolling only sporadically — his favourite game is to lie on my tummy and roll off into my waiting arm, he does either side and looks so proud when he lands next to me. His new favourite story is Dr. Seuss's If I Ran The Zoo — it's quite a fun read for me as well! Godmother Eise gave him an Seuss anthology. Great gift!

He's definitely trying to crawl... He gets up into a sort of plank position, legs straight, weight resting on elbows and toes. His face goes bright red and he groans in frustration. He clearly longs to move. He'll get there!