Tilly has this week progressed from her pram to the considerably more car-boot friendly stroller.
April 2007 Archives
It is the policy of this blog to correct significant errors as soon as possible.
It has been drawn to my attention that last Monday was not in fact our first night out together since Matilda's arrival. Back in January, when the blog was on sleep-deprived hiatus, Helen and I went to see John Martyn performing 'Solid Air' at the Lowry. We'd left the kids in the capable hands of Nan and Grandad. Dom was very good. The twelve week old Tilly was not. We came home to a frazzled looking Nan and an uncooperative infant. We then promptly and ungratefully forgot the whole episode.
So sorry Nan and thanks for the inaugural babysitting (and thanks for not mentioning it on Sunday either).
(This would have been so much easier were I Dom, since I could've simply blamed the oversight on Mr Hedgehog who is currently, along with the squeaky floorboards, apparently to blame for all his unseen misdemeanours).
The sunny weather didn't linger quite long enough, but the rain held off for Matilda's baptism on Sunday. Dressed beautifully in the handmade baptismal gown that her cousin Lydia had worn, Matilda Dora behaved impeccably throughout the service - even cracking big smiles at Deacon Keith. As he said himself, good job he warmed the holy water. Beautiful readings by Tilly's Nan and Grandma, and by Justine were offset by the longets hymns Helen could find. 'Are you sure you want all six verses, Helen?' 'Yes, yes I do'.
As the blurry evidence attests, the photocall was problematic especially as Dominic, despite long conversations beforehand, decided to be grumpily camera-shy. (Taking snaps of Dom lately is like wildlife photography, you have to sneak up on him to catch him unawares and you get one chance to take the shot as once he's heard the camera you're doomed). Luckily, as Jo relates, he's not above bribery as the offer of first, a shiny penny and then second, a scrumpy beer, brought out the cheesiest of grins.
We then retired to Chez Wassocks where we opened Tilly's many thoughtful presents, tucked into her fantastic baptismal cake and took turns to stand in the wind-whipped gazebos outside.
A great day, thanks to everyone
Evie, Dom and Eloise -
Tilly has started getting more and more vocal. In addition to the giggling (at it's cutest when in anticipation of the armpit tickle at the end of "Round and round the garden..."), she often seems to be trying to telling us something but only gets Bwaaabb wab-wab whhhaaaabbbb mmmmmmm. It is seeming increasingly likely that her first word may be Bwradbwurywabbit.
Aunty Jo very kindly bought Dominic a Fisher Price digital camera for Christmas 2006 and Dom is slowly becoming more interested in taking photos with it.
The pics below are some of my favourites of his photos - you can click on the pictures to see them in all their 640X480 glory if you wish, see the ten best of his most recent snaps on this page or peruse them all.
So we - me, Dom and his Mum - were talking about Dom and his friends enjoying an improptu plastic egg and plastic spoon race at a birthday party he'd gone to at the weekend. (Bizarre that somebody has gone to the trouble of making a plastic version of this, kids today, grumble, grumble...) "Perhaps," I said, "we could have an egg and spoon race this weekend?" "But what could we use?", worried Helen whose parsimonious Yorkshire upbringing has instilled an antipathy to food wastage. Dom clapped his hands together in delight, "I've had a really good idea! We could use the spoons that we eat with AND the eggs that we eat!" Simple, really.
Years ago, before the kids, we saw Victoria Wood at the Bristol Hippodrome. As the applause that greeted her as she came on stage died down she congratulated us all
well, you're here, you're out, you're out the house
which raised a knowing chuckle at the time but now seems especially sage.
Last night, four months later than we managed the same feat with Dom, and thanks entirely to giver of tickets and provider of babysitting Aunty Jobley, we had our first night out together since Tilly was born. We saw The Producers in Manchester with a scene-stealing turn from Peter Kay as Roger de Bris, though the play belonged to Cory English as Max Bialystock. We laughed until we cried and still managed to be home for quarter past eleven. Win-win.
Update 25/4/07: doh!
Aunty Jo's not happy (she doesn't like how fast they grow up) but Tilly's beginning to cut her first tooth.
In a proud moment for me, Dom's had his first proper go on his new (stabilised) bike, managing to self-propel himself up and down our drive the other day.
The bike - a so-cheap-its-virtually-a-gift purchase from a colleague - is great but a little heavy. In fact, it's actually heavier than my bike - I suspect some offcuts from the scaffolding industry have been involved somewhere in it's construction. So hefty is it, that on his very first try he could only manage to turn the cranks with his ?stronger right leg but by winding back and stamping on the pedal he made his way along nevertheless. He had another go last night and briefly mastered proper pedalling and steering but sadly not braking. The little man found himself caught out by the slight incline on the drive as you get past the house and hurtled towards the closed garage, coming to a halt with a gentle bump.
Dominic has been struggling to shake a cold for weeks and on the walk back from nursery started coughing like a smoker.
Helen, sympathising, "Oh Dom, that cough is still really nasty."
Dom, slightly indignant, "Yes, God isn't helping me."
As Helen collapsed in hysterical laughter, Dom warmed to his theme, "What is He doing?"
(One week before) Dom: "When do I get my Easter eggs?"
Us: "Well, good boys get their chocolate eggs on Easter Sunday and sometimes you have to find them because they are hidden."
Dom: (pauses, thinks) "I know where things hide, they'll be behind the sofa, won't they?"
(3 days before) Linda was telling Dom how for her grandchildren she hides the eggs in little bags all around the garden, underneath her daffodils and her rose bushes.
Dom: (barely pauses, thinks) "We've got daffodils that me and Daddy planted, you could hide them in my garden."
(Easter Sunday) After a good half-hour searching Nan-nan's garden for easter eggs, "The Easter bunny has left an awful lot of Easter eggs hasn't he?"
Beautiful baby daughter update: as of the end of March our little girl weighed 15lbs 14oz, placing her in the 75th centile for her age and was 66.5cm tall (91st centile - supermodel territory). The new feeding regime is obviously going well and she has so far put herself outside various apple, pear, butternut squash, carrot and sweet potato mushes. She prefers the fruit version to the veg and still likes the creamy goodness of a bit of milk mixed in. We seem to have won the battle of the bottle, and she's had one from me each night since last weekend. *Breathes sigh of relief*.
In the last week, she's also found her feet and has started playing with her little toes as well as her little fingers and anything else within scragging distance. She also, just once, managed to roll over from her belly to her back in order to get a better view of us. Attempts to repeat the feat, despite much encouragement and video surveillance, have all been defeated by the trailing arm that confounded Dom for so long. It's all going too quickly, again.
As I've alluded to before, Good Friday isn't all that good without a walk to 'a green hill far away'. So today wasn't that green, much of a hill or very far away but the walk was none the worse for it. We roped in the Websters, who in turn roped in the Deb and the Kev and made the most of the spring sunshine to wander aimlessly about on Norland Moor, pausing only to fly kites in the slightly too gentle breeze. (Ours, a gift from the Osbrads, flew beautifully..).
Dom had a more interesting walk than the rest of us, copping a snog with Evie, cadging a lift on Webby's shoulders and back at ground level being skittled by a runaway puppy. In fact, the whole thing left him exhausted.
Jobley's photoblogging again.
So after Tilly's photoshoot (more later) and shipping off Dom to Osbrad's boysitting services (which he loved), we embarked on Operation 'Get Tilly to accept a bottle so that Helen can leave the house untroubled by the guilt of burdening the babysitter with a screaming, inconsolable infant' (Catchy, eh?) So after a last feed before Dr Who, we settled in for a long battle of nerves.
Some sixteen hours later, Matilda still hadn't backed down. Even Aunty Jobley's advice that all the best things come in bottles - Bacardi Breezers for instance - hadn't budged her and her bone dry nappies stood as testament to her little kidneys working overtime as they'd become convinced that Tilly was stranded in some milkless desert. Helen had nipped out to church, Jo was resignedly refreshing the Glastonbury tickets page and I was still offering the bottle to herself. All seemed very gloomy.
Then, within minutes of each other, Jo managed to get tickets for Glastonbury* and it suddenly dawned on Tilly that these bottles were full of lovely milk and gulped one down in almost a single draught. All was suddenly great. We I (quite reasonably, she won't take a bottle from Helen) stuck with the bottle for the rest of the day, and she more-or-less happily had another bottle last night even after a day of breastfeeding, so (touch wood) I think we may have cracked it.
Postscript: so Helen went out to practise with the choir tonight leaving me Tillysitting. After I'd come back down from putting Dom to bed she was whinging a little bit so I gave her a cuddle. She promptly fell asleep and has remained soundly so for the three hours until Helen's return. The little minx.
*At time of writing, they've yet to take the money from my account so we're not quite home and dry yet, which is causing me no little anxiety at the moment.
Dom's not big on spontaneity. (Google video link)
