Louisette is such an easy baby that I very rarely have doubts about the mummy life (in fact, I’m waiting on one more publisher response before winding way back on the writing and blogging time, since it’s easy enough to rev things back up if one of the other publishers I’m currently waiting on – who won’t reply for at least six months – want to publish).
With sentences like that, it’s simply astonishing that I’m not yet living the life of the rich and famous*.
One thing that does scare me, however, is toddlerhood. It combines maximum energy with minimum self-preservation instincts – and sudden independence with the inability to clearly communicate. My own mum has pointed out that a toddler can understand heaps, and can say and do and understand more all the time – which will clearly make all the difference at the time. Nonetheless, I’m a little scared.
In the meantime, the horrors and joys of teething continue. She’s had some grumpy times lately, and has been waking up in the night almost every night for a fortnight. It’s 2:30am right now.
Teeth come through in pairs, so we’re very much waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’s developed a habit of sucking in her lower lip, which gives her a philosophical air.
And of course, she’ll chew anything that stays still long enough.
In unrelated news, last Sunday was my mum’s birthday, and for the first time in years all her descendants were in town at once. That’s my brother and his wife and son on the left, and my sister and her family on the right.
It’s always great for Louisette to see her oldest cousin (seven years older). . .
. . . and her youngest (three weeks old – what a difference seven months makes!)
*Or the author equivalent of the high life, which may sometimes peak as high as minimum wage.