When I had Elfie I was determined that I wouldn’t change as a person. I knew some things would be different – I wouldn’t be able to go out on a whim, would be a bit thicker round the middle for a few months, might lose a bit of sleep and there’d be a new little person around the place, but essentially I was determined that life as I knew it would remain the same.
Hux cried for two long, loud hours last night. It was reminiscent of the colic days, days so bleak I’ve managed to block them out of my memory. That awful crying babies do when they’re feeling miserable and sad but you can’t do anything to make them feel better and it breaks your heart.
Huxley Harold. Our Bubby. When I’m with you my nose is permanently plastered to your neck, your ear, your hair. Because the smell of your baby creases is so delicious I wish I could bottle it and wear it every day, because I know before too long you’ll grow up and start smelling of PE lessons, cheesy feet and Lynx.