It's Sunday morning, the babies are asleep, Nye is asleep, I am sitting at my desk, panicking. There is no smell of bagels or steam from freshly made coffee, just the hum of my hard drive and the sweet scent of anxiety. Oh and the growling of my stomach for an ikea biscuit does not a breakfast make. But there's So. Much. Work. To. Do. I'm on top of it really. Sort of. I think. Probably. And yet here I am, editing wedding photos at 8.30 on a Sunday morning.
This week Ella has mostly been growing teeth (two at once, the girl's hardcore), learning to bounce, not sleeping, screeching quite a bit and making odd noises with her tongue. She has also been doing solid poo. Only someone who has stood at a changing table, immobilised by the dilemma 'do I wipe the liquid shit off my head or my daughter's first?' can appreciate the beauty of a solid poo.
Amelia has been mostly just hanging (she doesn't bounce), splashing, rolling and learning to eat. It seems all I needed to do was blog about how she wouldn't eat at all. Oh, and the night after I wrote this? Slept all night.
Nye has mostly been adjusting to a life where finishing fixing up the flat isn't his number one priority. As such he has moved into the living room cupboard where he has set himself up a desk, two computer screens and has tacked a Sisters of Mercy poster to the filing cabinet. Yes, that's right, my husband has a Man Cave.
Aside from panicking (see above) I have been mostly sniffing the babies. And rubbing my face against their heads, which are getting fluffier.