So what’s the boy been up to?

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Gimme my milk, and no one gets hurt.

He’s been sloooowly shifting his body clock and sleeping/fighting sleep more predictably. That 7-hour inconsolable crying has been reduced to a 3 to 4-hour stint every evening, which is HEAPS more tolerable. And he’s figured out that his fists are somewhat attached to his body and that he might be able to control them. Most of the time, he jams a fist into his mouth and munches thoughtfully as a loud indication of his growing hunger for actual food.

It’s yet another one of those tiny details that catches me by surprise, because it’s different from what Arddun used to do. I know cerebrally that no two babies are alike, but it’s not until I spot the differences that I realise what individuals these kids are. You mean not all babies treat their fists like raspberry-flavoured Chupa Chups? Huh! Arddun took at least an hour per feed, while Atticus is done in 15 minutes flat. He absolutely loathes the bottle, while you could almost hear the sigh of relief when you handed one to Arddun.

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But they both love malling. Just drops them right off to sleep. Nothing like getting wheeled around a shopping mall with central heating/cooling while Mummy shops. Oooohhh yeah.

I’ve already given away most of his 0000 clothes (had to keep a few pieces for sentimental reasons), and even some of his 000s are tight – although I think that’s more about the cutting than anything else. At 7.5 weeks, he weighed 6.575kg – heavier than what Arddun weighed when she was 4 months old.

He’s also had his two-month jabs done. I had brought Tony along for Arddun’s so I could pass her to him before quietly slipping outside the room as the nurse slid the needle into her sweet, skinny thigh. But I did Atticus’s solo, and the needles had more to work with because his thighs are so cute and chubby. Still made him yell till he turned purple, however. That part is never fun.

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He spent a lot of Month Two getting to know his grandparents – pictures to come in another post.

As for the smiles? The gurgles? The coos? They melt the heart, now that I know he’s properly communicating through them. There was always a stinkin’ suspicion in Month One that his smile might just be an involuntary facial twinge as a fluff made its way out his diaper. This time, you know he’s talking. You know he’s happy.

Two-months-old

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