Fiona had her 8-week check and immunisations on Thursday. They measured her weight, height and head circumference, and all of these measurements came out extremely large for her age. Specifically:
|50th Percentile at
|6.32 kg (13.9 lb)
|60.5 cm (25.2″)
|41.5 cm (17.25″)
So, in other words, she is a perfectly normal 4-month old baby…at eight weeks.
…but in a good way.
When Fiona is fussy, we tend to offer her something to suck on. This comforts her, and allows us to determine if her fussiness is due to hunger. (It usually is.) Martin tends to offer his nose; I generally alternate between nose and chin. Or I used to – after this I’m thinking nose only, or maybe finger.
On Sunday, she was so hungry that when I let her suck on my chin, she gave me a hickey.
Alex and I were blowing raspberries at Fiona this morning, and she thought it was hilarious.
Alex has had a bad week or two.
Easrly last Wednsday night (March 3), he threw up at about 1am. He was distraught for the rest of the night, but felt pretty much OK the next day. Fine, we thought, he throws up randomly from time to time.
Then on Friday (March 5), he started again. He was sick through Saturday morning, but felt better in the afternoon. The barfing was worse – we ended up with towels instead of cushion covers on most of the 3-seater sofa (I love washable covers). But when it was over, we thought it was over.
So when he started crying at 3 this morning, we thought it was just a bad dream. Martin went through to him, then came to get me to do the long-traditional barf wash while he showered with the boy. This was made worse because we had Martin’s high-garlic garlic bread, and Alex had eaten rather a lot of it. I leave the fragrance to the imagination, dear reader. Trust me, though, imagination falls short – it took two washes, one at 90° C, to get the smell out of his bedclothes.
Now, the day after the night before, he seems better, but weak. We went out to pull my Dean Bridge for maintenance, and then go hunt another one nearby, but had to come home halfway through the project because he was so tired.
He doesn’t seem ill otherwise. After all the barfing he’s done over the years, we have learned that his digestive system is his “fuse”. When things go wrong, he throws up. I suspect that this is psychological rather than disease-related. More cuddles will be needed, clearly…
A week ago today, Fiona looked me in the eye and smiled. Twice.
I immediately ran for the camera, at which point she screwed her face up, turned bright red, and wailed.
She has since smiled at her grandparents, her father, her brother, and at least one friend. I’ve been trying to capture a smile on diode for seven days now, and I give up. She’ll smile for the camera when she wants to, but let it be known:
She can do more than cry. She just chooses not to.