Dear Frank

Dear Frank,

I want to write a post for you. We share a lot of cuddles and a lot of feeds, you and I, but somehow it’s still your big brother who gets all the column inches. He is so big and loud and you are so small and – well, loud, but less loud. Actually you are a very polite baby and take ages to resort to shouting, preferring a sort of light snort when you’d like to be noticed. I’ve tried this myself at bars and, trust me, it doesn’t work. I have no doubt you’ll learn to resort to the ear-bursting stuff rather quicker in future.

You are now seven weeks and three days old. You have got over the jaundice and the sticky eyes have mostly cleared up too, leaving you as a pale pink piglet, soft and plump, with a cute little snub nose and eyes that may well remain blue. You have those silly short limbs that babies have but I think you may be leggier than your brother. You are certainly an easier baby than he was, without being a passive lump; you don’t have colic, though you’re currently suffering a cold, and you will sit quite happily for some time in your Exciting Vibrating Bouncy Chair, listening to its inane music and staring at your father’s philosophy books. You’re smiling earlier and more often than Hugh: we saw what we thought might be the first one at five-and-a-half weeks and you now regularly respond to our smiles. You patiently endure Hugh’s embraces, though it’s possible you will enact a dire revenge later.
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In one respect you are awkward: you don’t reliably feed to sleep, and even if you do you almost always wake up if placed in your cot. You have decided that Mummy and Daddy’s bed is much better. So I get to cuddle your warm little curled up form all night, half out of the covers because I’m scared you’ll be suffocated, providing a breast whenever you wake up and start to snuffle. You feed frequently – about every two hours during the day, with one longer stretch – but at night (at present) you usually make it through from nine-ish until about two and then again until five. You don’t poo very much, which is considerate.

You are a charming little person. Even now you are beginning to unfold from the tightly sealed newborn bud of yourself, but you’re still mostly hidden away. I love you now, but I’m also impatient to meet the you you will become.

Your adoring Mum,

Dot.

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4 thoughts on “Dear Frank

  1. Helen Conrad-O'Briain

    why do we wish our lives and our children’s lives away.
    Enjoy him just the wy he is – he won’t be that way for long.

  2. kenanddot

    I am enjoying him. Though I after unwisely wrote about how easy he was he had a real bawling fit last night and we couldn’t seem to work out what was wrong. I didn’t enjoy that bit. Hugh at least is getting rather better at telling us the problem.

  3. Oh I remember that little brother stage well. Wondering if I would ever have the time to devote to him that his big brother got. What his character would be like. We found out soon enough though, and he doesn’t stay hidden by his brother now! Enjoy him, like the others say, this time doesn’t last very long. x

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