Our big boy was weighed today and is now the chubbilicious size of 13lbs8oz and I’m so glad he wasn’t born at this weight because he looks like a three year old already! He’s doing great on the Aptamil Comfort Milk and although he has the odd grunt and grumble when he takes a poo, it’s still nice and soft and stinky and easy to pass. He’s watching our every move when we’re holding him; he moves his head and turns to look at us with the most beautiful big blue eyes. He’s smiling everyday now and has the cutest little dimples it makes me want to spread garlic butter over his face and swallow him whole. And when he’s in the bath he splishes and splashes about so much he kicks water out all over the kitchen surfaces and we come evermore closer to slipping and breaking our necks every bath time. He’s started lining up his feet on one end of the tub, bending his knees and like an Olympic swimmer kicking off and shooting him to the other end of the tub. His scrawny limbs are now the most delicious chubby joints of baby meat with crinkles and creases surrounded by smooth plump skin; he definitely doesn’t look or feel like a newborn anymore, he is a seasoned, well-established official human being and has the t-shirt and mug to prove it.
He’s also getting more vocal by the day with the cutest little baby monkey noises of woo’s goo’s blahoo’s and noo’s it’s so sweet to hear his voice I’m making so many recordings and videos to look back on. I wish he could sound so cute forever, even when he’s old and grey with a tiny squeaky voice because it’s the most perfect and pleasing sound on earth; although I suspect it might slightly hinder his prospects of establishing a profession career if he sounded like a baby forever. I can imagine feeling down in forty years time and calling Gabriele for a chat and hearing his cheeky little voice and instantly grinning from ear to ear. His grip is getting much more precise and tight now when he focuses on something like his bottle or a finger he stares straight at it and grabs it so that nothing and nobody can get him to let go. He’s gradually getting more responsive to his jungle gym and the lights and sounds and textures around him, although he can’t move from where he lays he turns his head and studies every toy near and far.
And I guess I’m incredibly used to him being around now that it’s got to the point where life feels normal again. I’ve come to expect the sleepless nights, the milk stained shoulders, having my hair and earrings tugged out, getting poo on my hands at least once a day and starting my morning at 6am on four hours sleep. I can’t imagine my life before him, it all seems like a crazy dream back then like reading a fantasy novel where people lay in bed on a Sunday or eat hot dinners – what an insane luxury.
Now for the bastard blog. Sorry, I mean body blog. And this week has left just a splash of a bitter taste in my mouth as I’ve GAINED FOUR POUNDS! That’s right, GAINED and FOUR POUNDS should never ever be used in the same sentence, especially not one of mine. I was miserable enough when I only lost one pound in a week or stayed at the same weight, but I’d give anything to have that over putting on weight.
I can’t say that I’m entirely shocked as we had a chinese last night and lunch out today as well as chocolate cake from my brother’s birthday celebrations and father’s day. But up until then everyday I’ve been jogging for thirty minutes, hula-hooping for ten minutes, doing one hundred sit ups before bed and walking between one and three hours a day to collect Millie from school and was hoping to shed a significant amount of weight this week. But to have put on, wow, you could slap me, swear at me and shave my head and it wouldn’t have hurt so much or been so offensive as to have gained weight. But I don’t feel bigger in myself, I still see a whale in the mirror, but I’ve not noticed the gain, unless it’s crept onto my bum subtly at night time and so far avoided my line of vision in the mirror. I’ve noticed my stomach and hips getting firmer and toning up from the hula hooping and sit-ups but the scales still swore at me this morning.
Argh I’m losing all will power and ability to keep pushing myself when I get nothing in return. Why does this have to be so hard? And why do I have to feel so destroyed and tired all the time? Surely I deserve a break now of a good nights sleep or a free massage for all of the painstaking hours I’ve put in day and night endlessly merging the hours into weeks and the weeks into months. The circles under my eyes are so big and dark now I’m scared they’ll accidentally start sucking dark matter from space into them. I love being a mummy but I could also do with a little hand every now and then just to keep my head above water when the endless doggy paddling that I do is taking out my legs and forcing me to breath pond water instead of air. It’s not a question of being able to cope because day or night no matter what I will always keep going for the sake of my children, but it would be nice just to have that burst of energy to quench my desperately dry eyes and burning mind and let me lay my weary limbs out to repair. It seems the bigger Gabriele gets the less my arms can stand cradling him without rest, the harder each step becomes when I pace him at night, and the longer it takes me to change his nappy when I can’t even remember my own name or what day or time it is. Luca told me he was speaking to me last night and I kept saying, “I’m down a hole” despite being in bed next to him. I have no memory of it or any idea what I could possibly have been talking about or referring to, all I know is my candle had well and truly been burnt at both ends and the last time my memory blacked out was on a heavy night out after one too many drinks in my teenage years. How glamourous and rock and roll my lifestyle has become!
I feel very stodgy and solid and need a good detox right now. I need to up my water intake and flush out the junk and backlog of chocolate buttons and muffins in my system. I still haven’t had a period and nothing else in my underwear since my pinkish show the other day. If anything it would give me a clean slate to get my period out of the way and settle my hormones afterwards; much like clearing out a cupboard or washing a big pile of dirty dishes, it’s the peace and serenity that you find afterwards, obviously aside from the blood, but sometimes you need that visual incentive to give you a good kick up the arse. In with the peace, out with the piss.
So next week I don’t know whether to keep working out or try living on soup for a few days to shed this blubber. I would say I’ll sleep on it and see how I feel in the morning, but perhaps I should rephrase that to ‘I’ll be up all night getting screamed at and tortured until it’s daylight again and my mind is even softer than it is now so that I make my choice through desperation over avoiding the pain of trying to think or rationalise my actions’ yes…