George's first botbot...

...and first sick up on daddy.

We've had a lovely day today. We went over to some friends of ours from Yorkshire days for lunch. They are another army family now living just twenty minutes away, she works for a charity and their youngest is just four weeks older than Alby ensuring lots of shared experiences and understanding regarding just about any conversation topic. George did his typical thing if sleeping for a large part of the day, feeding a fair amount and sharing a good few grizzles with us all too. That says I'm convinced we're starting to get the beginnings of smiles - just glimpses once or twice a day which albeit brief and half formed still make my heart beat faster.
We've got the starting a if a good routine going on. George is proving more of a dirty stop out than his brother and whilst Alby is generally asleep by 7.30pm (usually earlier) George prefers a 9.30pm bedtime, something I've taken a bit of time adjusting to considering that it robs me if what used to be my most productive time of the day in regards to any household chores. Anyway, once Alby is out did the night I put George in the bath - if he insists on being awake he might as well have the chance to kick about and wash off the dribble / wee / nappy rash cream... of the day. After bathtime comes a cuddle, a followed by a feed when he starts crying and then he's rocked to sleep in the genius Phil 'n' teds carry cot we bought (thank you eBay).
Tonight daddy did bathtime and to ensure a bit more daddy time I warned up the bottle that had been sitting in the fridge so father and son could do some more bonding. As with most things concerning the second child I wasn't quite organised enough (I'll start feeds without having grabbed a book for Alby, start nappy changes without water or a clean nappy - we're doing a lot of the cuff with baby number two). So realising that the first daddy bottle feed is quite the milestone when you are only 5 weeks old I ran off to find the camera and then ran off again to let Percy out. Coming back upstairs I learnt I missed everything when I heard Mark say, in a very relaxed, loving voice "shall we burp you know?" This was followed by a gurgling noise and Mark shouting "woah" as George then threw up all over Mark's leg. Being the supportive partner that I am I reacted by bursting into laughter. I love my husband, honest.
So a double milestone evening for Mark and George. And maybe I don't have a photo record of if but I'm still smiling at the whole drama - nothing like children to keep you grounded.

Four weeks of George

In typical parent cliche fashion I can't believe four weeks have passed already. Where the bloomin' heck did the time go?
Four weeks since the chaos of paramedics and the dining room feeling like a sauna and looking like a crime scene.
Four weeks of big brother cuddles, kisses and requests to hold "my baby brother".
Four weeks of laundry, nappies and missed household chores.
Four weeks of flowers, cards and showing off the little fella (as Alby has named him) to friends, family and colleagues.
Four weeks of being amazed by how much Alby's heart has grown, how besotted he is and how tolerant he can be - I can't imagine I would be so accepting of a crying baby during my bedtime stories.
Four weeks of feeding, changes, co-sleeping, rubbing my cheek against newborn soft skin, staring at his ever changing face and admiring new fat creases.
Four weeks of humming, mewing, squeaking, grizzling, grunting and crying.
Four weeks of guilt, guilt that comes with every cry or twofold with a distressed shriek. Guilt that I don't cuddle him as much as I cuddled Alby, that I haven't spent as much time staring at his face as I did with Alby, that I might be doing it all wrong.
Four weeks of near identical photos.
Four weeks of living in a blur.
Four weeks of love.