I am mildly hungover this morning as I went on my mums' night out to the Dartmouth Arms last night and shared a bottle of wine with Harriet. In my Life Before Freyja (L.B.F), I would have positively sprung out of bed after only drinking half a bottle of wine, but these days I'm lucky if I can manage a second glass, so half a bottle is a binge drink extraordinaire for me.
My little gremlin of a child has been driving me ever so slightly potty these last few days. I suspect teething (she has 3 on the way) or possibly separation anxiety, poor little mite, or maybe just general Freyja behaviour. Either way, she is being difficult. We went to see the lovely little Esme on Sunday, who slept for the whole 2 hours we were there. The only sound she emitted the entire time was that explosive 'newborn filling nappy' noise, which I had, until that point, completely forgotten about. She is a little angel - tiny, beautiful and was blissfully nestled in Antonia's arms. Freyja, on the other hand was playing up - Oh the shame. She cried and squirmed and wanted to be picked up, then put down. There I was trying to give off an air of experienced mum calmness while my daughter ran rings around me and the new- mum-of- only- a- week sat serenely in her rocking chair talking about how surprisingly easy this motherhood lark was. Sigh.
Now everyone tells me that newborns all sleep but I am sure that Freyja woke up on about day 3. Adrian blames my relatives who descended on us like a family of 5-thousand sometime around the middle of the first week. I thought that perhaps my memory was deceiving me and she did spend most of the time asleep, but then I checked back on the photos we took and the evidence is there for all to see. Here she is, not even 24 hours old and already trying to work out what on earth that thing that keeps flapping in front of her face is:
And here she is putting the world to rights with my dad on day 3:
And by day 6, she is already wondering what on earth I am doing putting her in a moses basket when she isn't even tired, mum!
She perfected that scowl over the next few months and now, as Adrian's dad says, can give you such a withering look as to make you feel 2 inches small when the mood takes her.
Obviously we do also have lots of sleepy pictures of her because of course she did sleep, but I promise you that she also spent a fair amount of the day wide awake (usually crying to be fed!). I think the only person that she really slept for the entire duration of their visit was with Alix 'I'd rather have a baby monkey, thank you very much':
Which gets me thinking about why we define a 'good baby' as one who sleeps all the time? Is that really what good is, or is it because it makes mum and dad's life a hell of a lot easier, I wonder.