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I had an interesting conversation with Keith on chat this morning while I was ploughing through morning mails and he was getting Alfie up for the day. Interesting in sense that it was one of those conversations that really defines how a relationship has changed. Where once there was flirting and plans for weekend reunions, there is now baby information; sometimes too much thereof, as this snippet will testify

“whoa, that was a sight! You hadn’t done up his sleep suit right, and it was so full the nappy had expanded and ballooned out the hole in his suit between his legs. Thankfully it kept it all in though, and there was a LOT of it!”

And it made me wonder whether I miss it – the old days I mean – and the answer is surely and certainly NO! I love this new normality of ours, perhaps even more than when I was at home with them, because I get the edited highlights and the fun part where I come home and it’s all about the massages and bath time.

Incidentally, we seem to have stepped away from the massage = copious amounts of wee stage now, and Alfie has decided instead that when I move onto his tummy area, the correct response is to go cross eyed and blow raspberries. Seriously, every night, it’s freaky, so freaky that Keith got video to prove to the world how freaky that boy can look.

I am also taking great strides (or more accurately today, a stiff hobble) to regaining my former figure with BuggyFit classes. In reality this involves lots of power walking round parks pushing prams, lunges and then doing some mat work with the buggies parked up and the babies flailing around like upended turtles (Keith’s observation, but doesn't it just describe 2 month olds perfectly???)

Last week was a really positive experience, although I was a bit stymied in my efforts by the fact that running really hurt my scar. A trip to the Marks and Spencer unsexy underwear department later and I had a super sucker-inner (as they are affectionately known in my family) which held everything in place enough for me to get my groove on yesterday.

I was quite looking forward to joining in the jogging, despite feeling a little like I had been vacuum packed into my underwear which frankly was something of an unwelcome experience.

Not even my previous experience of basques had quite readied me for the feeling that some demonic child had separated my legs and torso and inserted a Lego groin where my fully articulated one used to be.

To add insult to injury, I only got to do the first round of running because Alfie woke himself up by weeing and then insisted on telling the rest of the class, nay the WORLD, about the indignity of his situation.

I ran up the slope to see the lovely instructor rocking the pram and my heart sank as I heard his first splutterings.

I changed him as quickly as I could, but the combination of cold and interrupted sleep meant Alfie was firmly, and unhappily awake by the time I had finished.

Suddenly he went back to his days of being Perpetual Motion Baby and when I parked him up to start the mat work section of the class, he began his protest in earnest.
Waaaaaa-rooooooo .......
The lovely instructor took the pram and started rocking him to try and get him to drop back off while I pretended to find my mat really very interesting
“Is he hungry do you think?”
“No, he ate just before we left”
(please don’t let him get worked up, please, please, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll even catch up on my housework!!)
“Shall I get him out and give him a cuddle?”
“Absolutely if you think it will help”
(which I doubt it will, and good luck with the ringing in your ears)
“Eerrm Tash”

Bugger. Just ..... BUGGER

Several minutes of bouncing later and he had stopped. Unfortunately by this time so had the class.

In other news, Alfie has proven he much prefers his sling to pram when walking with the dogs.
Mainly because he gets to be nosy and see everything while expending absolutely no energy at all.

I believe this expression says it all – minion, take me that-a-way.

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