Last Sunday at the Flower Market
I blame it on the picture. Ever since I posted the photo of Louis as a newborn, he's decided to behave just like one. If it wasn't for the extra 15 odd pounds he's carrying round and the blonde rinse, I reckon I'd struggle to tell the difference.
Take the past couple of nights. After napping during the evening, he's proceeded to wake up hourly - yes, hourly - during the rest of the so-called night. I swear there's precious little difference between the amount of time he's then spent nursing and when he was a few days old. His favourite place for sleeping still seems to be in my arms: last night he only dropped back off at 1am after I sat up cuddling him for the best part of an hour.
Then there's the buggy. Yet again I spent half of our walk home pushing it with one hand while carrying him with the other. It brought memories of walking home from Borough Market with him aged three weeks: my Mum pushing his buggy and me carrying him, worrying I'd get him into bad habits. Yet this time there was the small matter of him weighing the best part of 25 pounds (I'm guessing - to know for sure I'd have to either brave a session at baby clinic or stand on our scales holding him and I'm not prepared to do either).
Not that I'm really complaining. How can I when someone seems to have pressed the fast forward button on time and he'll be all grown up before I know it? Besides, he makes up it all in other ways. Perhaps if new borns popped out being able to say "Mummy" and plant mushy kisses on their mothers' lips then PND rates would plummet.