It seems somehow appropriate that our son’s first word should be goo.

In other news, Bernard has finally made it into double figures: 11lb 8oz at today’s weigh-in. I am so very, very proud of him.

Last night I sat up all night fretting because Bernard had a very slight temperature, a normal result of his first immunisations, which he bravely received yesterday morning. Mothers appear to spend a lot of time worrying about very little, but in the wee hours it is difficult to be rational, and then it makes perfect sense to wake up your sleeping baby in order to undress him and take his temperature.

I am pretty tired today, and it’s my own fault. It’s really quite lovely to have a hot little baby draped across your chest, and I can spend hours listening to him snore, when I’m supposed to be sleeping myself. There is something about a trusting, floppy, contented child that is supremely adorable.

I hold and carry Bernard so much that I fear he will never learn to walk. But it doesn’t matter, because he will be able to boss people about from the comfort of a chair. Pete noted recently that he might not know any words, but he is very good at sentences. He [Bernard, not Pete] chatters away in long streams of pre-babble, with a meaningful expression or a wide grin, and it’s so hard not to believe that he’s trying to tell us something other than that he has found a new tool for communication, so doesn’t have to cry all the time.

It’s still a rollercoaster, but there are fewer tears all round. The sound of my baby laughing while his dad gives him an after-bath massage is quite possibly the best thing I have ever heard.

Hi. Looks like the first guest post on Rise, doesn’t it? Joy.

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There are many different styles of visit: long visits, short visits, welcome visits, inconvenient visits, visits accompanied by daft plastic tat, and visits accompanied by pie. This post, by the way, is dedicated to Pix.

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