Keen Teeny Rastafeeny's Rapid Arrival

I had a phone call at 7.45 this morning. You know how you always fear the worst, especially when you’ve just woken up. Of course, the obvious passed me by in my half-asleep state. One look at the caller ID though and I knew instantly what had occurred.

‘Kat woke up at quarter to two with pains,’ said Peter. ‘And he was born at 3.15.’

‘3.15?’ I said, incredulous.

‘Yep. We didn’t even get time to set up the birthing pool.’

It seems the midwife didn’t get there in time either. So who delivered little Teeny Rastafeeny? Well, Peter of course! Luckily it was two pushes and he was out. Peter had planned to cut the cord, but the midwife arrived before it was necessary. Having done the important bit he had to leave her something to do.

I knocked on Uncle Jack’s door as soon as I got off the phone. ‘Your new nephew’s arrived,’ I told him.

‘Wha’?’

‘Teeny’s been born.’

‘Ay?’

‘Kat and Peter’s baby’s arrived.’

‘Uh? Really?’

‘Yes. Do you want to come with me to see him?’

He considered me blearily. ‘Um…’

‘Later?’

‘Yeah, later,’ he confirmed, yawning and snuggling back into the bed.

Pa and I arrived about quarter to nine to find Kat sitting serenely in the living room cuddling Teeny, her mum seated with a cup of tea and big brother Ben choosing his Christmas list from the John Lewis website (‘Sometimes you’ve just got to let things go,’ said Kat, who’s not keen on kids spending lots of time on computers). Peter was on tea making duty. Anyone would think we’d popped into a coffee morning, so calm was the atmosphere.

Pa took a few photos then left for work as Aunty Giovanna and LHG turned up. LHG took a brief look at his new cousin before toddling off to find something more interesting to do, like fiddling with the fridge magnets.

The conversation inevitably turned to who Teeny looks like. So far he seems to favour Ben with Peter’s forehead, Kat’s ears and smidge of the ‘Turnbull’ nose (ie, with a ridge down the bit in between his nostrils). If LHG is anything to go by, in six months’ time he’ll look completely different. The ‘Turnbull’ ridge and the cleft chin are the only recognisable features left. Giovanna reckons the current LHG ate the original one!

So, it’s welcome to the world to Teeny Rastafeeny (his parents don’t seem to have revealed his name to the world, [ie facebook] yet, so neither will I) on this cold and misty, autumn morning.

Teeny with his Aunty Giovanna and cousin LHG

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall and Other Endlessly Fascinating Things

Last weekend Giovanna, LHG and I had a lovely break in the West Country with his Aunty Carmela and Uncle Simon (formerly named C and S on this blog, but they’ve told me I’m allowed to name them). The weather was kind to us and we had a lovely time eating, walking along beaches and getting lost in a maze. Little LHG enjoyed it all, but among his pleasures was the simple one of looking in a full length mirror that Carmela had propped up against one wall. Every time he passed it he’d turn and regard the other baby, lifting his hand to it, only to find a barrier. I don’t think he’s quite got the idea that it’s him yet, which apparently comes around the 18 month mark.

Seeing him stare into Carmela’s mirror reminded me of an incident three or four months back when Pa and I took him into John Lewis to look at clocks. Next to the clock department they keep the mirrors, big and small, fancy and simple, so I wheeled him round them to keep him occupied. Poor soul, he didn’t know where to look first. There were babies everywhere and they all looked the same. What’s more, they all had a pushchair and a nonna that looked like his!

What a strange and fascinating place the world must be to a baby. It makes me wish I could come afresh to it like that, to have that wide-eyed wonderment every few seconds as some brand new experience is rolled out. Even the leaves on the trees, waving around in the wind, are an endless source of wonderment to LHG.

As for the clock, we intended to buy a small mantle-type one to put on one of the bookshelves in the living room. What we ended up with was a huge black, distressed clock face to put on the wall. It sat for a day or two on one end of the L-shaped settee. LHG kept eyeing it up with relish. At the time he was at the walking-along-holding-on-to-things stage. Eventually he shuffled his way round from the end of the seating where his toys were, to where the big round thing sat at fondling level. The temptation when he reached it was too much and his little fingers stretched out to pull at the clock hands. At this point he was whisked up and back to his toys, only to start the process again.

Ah yes, such an endlessly fascinating world for babies, and so much of it sadly out of bounds.

Just five days now until LHG’s little cousin, Teeny Rastafeeny is due. So far there’s been absolutely no indication that he’s about to pop out, but hopefully I’ll have some news soon.

Sproggs, Dogs and Baby Showers, part 2

…So, Nonna and her brood had this little problem. How were we to get Kat to the baby shower? Kat is always very busy, making a list each day of everything that has to be done. We hatched a plan. Peter told her Giovanna, C and I were taking her out baby shopping and that C was really excited about it. Since C was only here for the weekend, he wanted to guilt Kat into being on time! He also told her it was a secret and not to let on she knew. A kind of double bluff.

Sunday lunchtime came, and as it happened it was us who were running a bit behind schedule. Luckily, we were meeting at the house of Giovanna and Kat's friend AM (who was kindly holding the do) an hour earlier. People started turning up with food and presents and everything was coming together. At quarter to two C and I left to pick Kat up. She was ready! Peter was pottering about with Ben, not letting on that he was soon off to the local pub to meet with some of the other abandoned males. We went in the opposite direction to shopping centre so I explained we had to pick up Giovanna and LHG who were currently at AM’s house. Kat, thrilled that her nephew was coming didn’t question this, even when we had to stop for Pa, Uncle S and T at the zebra crossing on their way to the pub!

When we arrived at AM’s I thought we’d have to find some reason to get Kat out, but luckily she decided she wanted to say hello. We got through the back gate to be confronted by a group of  people  gathered on the patio and lawn. At first, Kat looked utterly confused. After all, there were people from different parts of her life – her mum and aunt, friends from various places, Peter’s family. Slowly we saw the light dawn, and she steamed off up the garden screeching with delight! Not easy when you’re over 36 weeks pregnant!

Eating, drinking (mostly soft drinks!), chatting and present unwrapping took place and a jolly afternoon was had by all.  

Little LHG was one of only two babies there. The other little boy wasn’t old enough for him to play with but he didn’t seem to mind. He escaped into the garden to splash his hands into all the little puddles of water that had gathered on outside toys. Then he came in to do the same with the drinks! One photograph perfectly captures a stream of liquid pouring from a cup onto his clothes, people looking on with various expressions of disbelief and amusement. The party might have been about his little cousin, but he wanted to join in the fun. Bless him.

Best of all was a further surprise Kat hadn’t expected. Having decided to opt for a home birth, she’d set her heart on purchasing a birthing pool (a bit like a high sided paddling pool). Realising their budget couldn’t quite stretch to it with all the other expenses, she’d resigned herself to going without. After examining the large card that Giovanna had made for her (with a photo of the scan) and that everyone had signed, AM presented her with a shoe box she’d carefully wrapped in pretty paper. Peeping inside, Kat was baffled by the loose money. ‘It’s for the birthing pool,’ someone said.

Kat burst into tears! Nonna felt quite overcome herself. When Kat had recovered, someone said, ‘Count it. Let’s see if you’ve got enough.’

Would you believe, people had donated the exact amount needed to purchase the pool? I think it's what Peter would call letting the universe take care of it!

With thanks to Peter, Giovanna and AM for all their work in organising the party, and to all the lovely friends and family who were so generous.

                                                                        Overcome!

                                                                

Sproggs, Dogs and Baby Showers, part 1

My, what a frenzied weekend Nonna has just had.

Little LHG’s Aunty C arrived from the West Country for the weekend with Uncle S. Along with them came their dogs, Briar and Bronte and Uncle S’s 9 year old son, T. This wasn’t purely a social visit, a date plucked at random from the calendar, no. They’d come because Aunty C was keen to partake of Aunty Kat’s baby shower, celebrating the impending birth of Teeny Rasatfeeny, her latest nephew.

It just so happened that it had been Aunty C’s birthday in the week and it seemed a perfect opportunity, and excuse, to hold a family lunch party for her. Organising any such event once upon a time would have involved the six of us. Not so these days!

Along with C, S and young T, there was Peter, Kat, Kat’s 8 year old son Ben, Giovanna and little LHG. And of course, Jack, who at least made this party even though he didn’t make his own birthday dinner a fortnight before. Ho hum. Anyway, along with Pa and me, that made 11. Add three dogs to the mix (Kat’s Maisie joined us) and you can probably guess that it was a pretty hectic affair: LHG pulling at the dogs, dogs getting entangled with boys, boys interrupting adults and adults talking over each other. Great fun though. Needless to say a buffet won out over a sit-down meal.

Poor old T, it was the first time he’d met any of us, but he seemed to take it all in his stride. C tried to explain to him how he and Ben were kind of step step cousins, but I think it’s only ever women who understand the complexities of family relations, let alone those of the modern family. Luckily, he and Ben just got on with it, spurred on by a shared love of Lego and Bionicles (‘originals ones!’ they enthused). See, it’s worth hanging on to toys, even when your children are all past 20.

Little LHG loved all the mayhem and attention: adults to cuddle him, other children to follow round and idolise, dogs to stroke and wonder at.

Day turned to evening and the conversation inevitably turned to baby names. Just three-and-a-half weeks to go and so far there is only one boy’s name that Kat and Peter agree on. Now they’ve discovered a friend is desperate to use a similar one should they have a boy. Dilemma. Still, I don’t know what’s wrong with Bud, Carlsberg and Peroni, or Bilbo, Frodo and Gollum, or even Thyme, Basil and Dill. Yes, we’d stooped to categories. Apart from beers, Lord of the Rings and herbs, we rummaged through trees, soft drinks (particularly liking Um Bongo!), fruit, veg, pagan gods, elements, To Kill a Mockingbird and, well, just about everything.

Beneath the surface, and what Kat wasn’t aware of, was a whisper of another dilemma. How on earth were we going to get her to the secret baby shower scheduled for the following day? More of that in the next post.

In the meantime, I don’t think the baby name discussion covered weather and cheeses. Now where’s Kat and Peter’s number…

Teeny Rastafeeny And The Trouble With Names

Five weeks to go until the due date of my currently incubating grandson and new cousin for LHG. 

A nickname for him had eluded me, and then father-to-be Peter came up with one: Teeny Rastafeeny. Those of you who’ve never met Peter will be wondering why Rastafeeny. Those of you who have will know that he has a massive set of thick dreadlocks (all his own) right down to his waist. Really. Waist length. They’re quite something. LGH’s mummy, Giovanna, used to have them too, back before LHG was even a ball of dividing cells. She got tired of trying to keep them neat and cut them all off one day.

Now, because we’re referring to Peter and K’s baby as Teeny Rastafeeny, I’ve started to picture a tiny newborn with dreads! Can you imagine? It’s hard enough getting a head out into the world without it being covered with a layer of bulky, twisted hair! However, I shall go on picturing him as such until he makes his appearance (not two weeks late like his cousin LHG, please.)

When he is born, his curious nickname will be forgotten and he’ll have his new moniker bestowed upon him.

But what? Like most new parents, Peter and K have been trawling through the many ideas on offer. The field’s wide open and they don’t feel obliged to stick with good old traditional names, or with what’s currently popular.

Neither would I have when Peter and Jack were born. If I’d had my way, they’d have been called Dante and Rafaele, but Pa was having none of it. Peter was consequently named after a recently departed grandfather. With Jack, we thought we were resurrecting a name from the past that was normally a nickname for people called John. How wrong were we? That year it was the top boy’s name, and for many years after.

Peter and K themselves came up with something they thought was unusual: Finn (Fin? Phinn? Phin? Fyn? Phyn…?) They were wrong too. I even saw it on a T-shirt for sale outside a seaside shop in Padstow – next to one with LHG’s Italian first name!

Nothing stays unusual. As a child, I was the only Francesca I knew of – apart from the actress Francesca Annis. Sometime in the 80s, the series Bread featured a baby with my name. Boom! I was not amused. My Italian tutor at the time wanted to call his new daughter Francesca. ‘Not likely’, said his wife, ‘there are already three at nursery’ Ho hum.

So, five weeks for Peter and K to think of an unusual name for Teeny Rastafeeny which won’t become an immediate smash hit.

Good luck!

This Time Last Year - Part Two

I spoke in my last blog about how I’d been away in Caerleon last year, awaiting the birth of Blodwyn Bubaloo (as he was then known).

Having just consulted the calendar for the date, I’ve realised that this time last year I was sitting in a hospital awaiting BB’s imminent arrival. Giovanna had finally been admitted into the labour suite (after a number of comings and goings) and the other grandma and I were seated in the corridor looking forward to meeting our grandson.

Of course, it didn’t work out like that. Had we realised it was going to be another 12 hours before he put in an appearance, I wonder if we would have gone home for some shut eye? Probably not.

What I remember most about that time was the sleep deprivation. I’m sure Giovanna’s reaction would be ‘you think you had sleep deprivation?!’

I won’t be seeing little LHG on his birthday tomorrow as he and his mummy have gone on a little holiday with Uncle Peter, Aunty K and Cousin B. Neither, sadly, will his daddy, JW, who has to work. I can’t resent them the holiday as it’s overdue for Giovanna.  I’ve just sent her a text, reminding her where we all were this time last year. I shall give them a ring tomorrow. I wonder if LHG will realise it’s his nonna talking to him.

Hopefully Pa will also remember to ring. As I write, he’s up at St James’ Park football ground in Newcastle with Great Uncle M (ie, his twin brother), watching Brazil v Honduras (Honduras are winning  by 2 goals to 1 at the mo!).

We will eventually get the opportunity to celebrate with LHG because next Sunday he is having his party. Even then, not everyone will be able to make it. Aunty C will be on call, while Great-Grandma C will be ‘babysitting’ her teenage step-grandsons (though who will really be looking after who I don’t know!).

That gives me a week to try and find some wooden bricks (different shapes and colours), which is what Giovanna has asked me to get little LHG. My own children had them, but as yet, I’ve not found a shop that stocks them. If you know of anywhere, please let me know!

(PS Must be an action packed football match: Brazil are now ahead 3-2!)

This Time Last Year...

...I was at the Caerleon Writers' Holiday awaiting the birth of Blodwyn Bubaloo, as he was then known. I'm back in Caerleon again this year, with its inspiring courses, lovely people and lush location, safe in the knowledge that I'm not missing out on the first birthday party of my 'nipote'. How kind of him to hang on last year so his nonna could enjoy her writerly time away!

I'm hoping, with him having an August birthday, that most of LHG's future parties will be sunny. A bit much to ask in the UK I know, especially when experience of my own children's parties has taught me this won't necessarily be the case.

LHG's mummy, Giovanna, with a birthday at the end of February, has naturally seen some glum weather on her special day. One year it snowed so heavily that her grandparents were almost trapped at our house. Another year it was so sunny and warm that we sat on the beach at Littlehampton.

Uncle Peter, who's birthday is at the end of May, probably had as many rainy birthdays as he did sunny ones.

Uncle Jack and Aunty C were surprisingly lucky with their September birthdays. One year, we hired a bouncy castle at the weekend in between their birthdays. Jack's nine year old friends occupied it for the afternoon. C's 17/18 year old friends made an evening of it. Later they also made a night of it with their sleeping bags, so mild was the weather.

So, what to expect for LHG's August birthday? Heat wave or flood? Gentle breezes or gale force ten? In the best of years it would be hard to predict, but with the weather we've been having this year, it is certainly anyone's guess. Either way I'm sure he'll enjoy it, even if he doesn't know what all the fuss is about.

I'll let you know.

Recycle, Reuse...

…is a slogan I have on a T shirt from many years ago. Not that I own the whole thing anymore. I cut out the slogan along with the pattern, intending to sew it on to another T-shirt when the original one got shabby – in the spirit of the slogan itself.

Needless to say, like many sewing and knitting projects I have tucked away, it has not yet been accomplished. One day.

However, it’s a slogan that’s come into its own since the birth of LHW. I wrote earlier of Trigger’s Moses basket and the eco nappies, but all sorts of other things have been unearthed from storage: baby T-shirts, trousers, shorts, vests, a huge bag of tiny socks (amazingly all in pairs), and so it goes on. There are also toys: Panda, Pooh Bear, a xylophone drum, shape sorter, cuckoo clock, Webster the spider, Clatterpillar…

And that’s before we even get on to the books. Currently we only have the baby books out, simple versions of Winnie the Pooh and Thomas the Tank Engine among them. But for later, we have at least 500 (yes, 500!) children’s books on a bookcase on the landing. Can you tell I was keen on my children reading?

LHW takes great delight in turning the pages of his board books though he’s only interested in the pictures as yet. But soon will come a time when we can introduce him to our own children’s favourites: Mog the Cat, Postman Pat, Meg and Mog, Mrs Elephant and her brood, and oh so many more.

I used to do all the voices when my children were little, from a cackly Meg the witch through to Welsh accents in Ivor the Engine based on my great-gran’s (and so, in fact, from the wrong end of Wales!). My daughter C told me recently that whenever she read through her old books, she always heard me doing the voices in her head.

So, very soon, not only will I be reusing the books with dear little LHG, but I’ll be reusing my old voices. I only hope I’m not too out of practice. I’m sure Giovanna will be keen for him to get to know her own favourite book as a tot, Baby Goz by Steve Weatherill.

‘Are you my mar-my?’ Ahh.

Birdy Birdy Num Nums!

A few days ago, Giovanna and I took LHG out at lunch time, holing up at a
department store café. He was quite happy in a high chair all the time he was eating,
but on this occasion he’d got through his jar of food very quickly, and once he’d
finished, he was done. Trouble was, we hadn’t finished. How to keep him occupied?
His interest in the piece of rice cake only lasted so long. Then I remembered, I’d just
bought him one of those pull back toy vehicles, in this case a VW camper van. Since
he was sitting at the end, Giovanna and I took turns to set it off across the width of
the table, provoking giggles from him with each lap. It gave us time to finish our
sandwiches and coffee before he was once more moaning to be set free.

So far, LHG’s meal-time problems have been those of boredom when he’s
finished, rather than the food presented to him. With one exception.
On Saturday, Pa and I were in charge for the day as usual. LHG had eaten
earlier, but we hadn’t had time until we sat down to watch Wimbledon. LHG, seeing I
had something interesting, climbed onto the settee and crawled over to me,
eyeballing my sandwich of cheese and lamb’s lettuce. There was a piece of the
lettuce hanging over so I lifted it up and offered it to him. He knelt up, took it, gave it
a look of disgust and shook it onto the floor. I offered him another bit. Same
reaction. Next thing I knew, he’d lifted the top layer of bread off one of my
sandwiches and it was heading for his mouth! Retrieving it from him, I offered him a bit of
crust, and he seemed content with that.

I guess all children have some foodstuff they’re not going to be fond of. My own
children were pretty good at eating most things, but they all had their bête noirs.
Aunty C couldn’t stand baked beans and, although she liked banana flavour, didn’t
like the texture. Giovanna, on the other hand, was known as ‘Giovanna the banana
queen’. However, she couldn’t abide even one single pea on her plate. Uncle Peter
never had much time for cheese, unless it was melted or mozzarella. Uncle Jack
disliked eggs. When they were tiny, both their grandpa TC and their grandpa Gwil
spent mealtimes trying to coax them all to eat the things they disliked. Grandpa TC’s
approach was to eat the offending food and say, ‘Mmm, birdy birdy num nums!’
Grandpa Gwil’s, a similar approach, was to proclaim ‘Yummers!’ each time they
said, ‘Yuck!’

Time will tell if LHG’s food hangups will be any more serious than lamb’s lettuce.
If so, a different tack may be needed from that taken by his great-grandfathers,
since, despite their efforts, all their grandchildren’s food dislikes are pretty much
intact!

Mmm, think I fancy a cheese and pea omelette with baked beans. Yummers!

Again, again!

Did I tell you that I’m going to be a nonna? Ah, I hear you say, but we thought you already were. ‘Tis true, but in 17 weeks, give or take, I am due to be a nonna again. Yes, numero due nipote (number two grandchild) is on the way.

No, Giovanna and JW haven’t decided to produce a hasty sibling for little LHG. He’ll only be 14½  months old when the new sprog arrives, though of course that’s possible. But this time it’s the turn of Peter and K, so it’s a new little cousin for LHG and a half-brother for cousin B.

Like Giovanna and JW, Peter and K decided they wanted to know the sex of their baby. Apparently it was pretty obvious it was a boy at the 12 week scan, if you get my drift. Not that I saw the evidence until yesterday. What are they like? For 11 weeks they’ve been ‘going to show us’ the scan. I finally got to see it along with the 20 week one. Pa’s still yet to see either.

From what I can make out it’s definitely a – baby. Surely the appendage that’s on show is simply the umbilical. Guess I’ll have to bow to the greater knowledge of the sonographer.

I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s another boy. Pa has three brothers – a twin and two half-brothers. (He even has two step brothers who’ve each produced two sons, though obviously that doesn’t influence anything.) However, since he has managed to produce two daughters out of four, I imagine a little Myfanwy will turn up sometime.

Now I need a nickname for the new Blodwyn. Blod II, the sequel? Hm. Maybe not. He needs something all his own.

Nonna will have to get her thinking cap on. Any suggestions gladly considered.

Food Glorious Mess

Having missed out on looking after little LHG the weekend before last, Giovanna brought him round promptly at quarter to nine on Saturday morning for another day of grandparenting.

‘What’s he having for lunch?’ I asked her, as she unfastened his pushchair straps. 'There’s a jar in the bag,’ she replied, ‘but he can probably have what you’re having.’ ‘I’ve got linguine left from last night,’ Apparently that was okay, as he’d already tried onion, garlic, tomatoes and lamb. Unusually, I’d added a tiny bit of fresh chilli (not in my father’s original recipe). He hadn’t had a go at that, but since I assured her it was only a little bit, Giovanna decided it would be okay.

Ten o’clock came, and with him yawning his head off it was an opportunity to try out the new travel cot (half price at a well known baby store!). I popped him in and went off to the bedroom to brush my hair. His plaintive wailing soon had me back in the room, comforting him and carrying him back downstairs. Perhaps he wanted some milk first, before a nap? I gave him to his Pa and went off to the kitchen to make a bottle. I’d just stuck it in some water to cool it down when Pa stuck his head round the door to say that LHG was fast asleep in the cot. Pa obviously has the magic touch.

It didn’t last long. Forty minutes later, the beginning of a moaning cry filtered down the stairs. I went up to find his nibs standing up against the cot, his bottom lip protruding as a single tear fell down his cheek. He had that accusing, how dare you leave me look that babies do so well.

With lunch time approaching, I left Luca with Pa and went out to mush up the linguine. Ever enthusiastic about food, Luca opened his mouth eagerly for the first spoonful. His mouth worked up and down slowly, scrunching his nose up. Mm, not sure about that. He refused the spoon twice before giving it another go. This went on until he grabbed the spoon off me and starting digging into the bowl for himself. He got the handle end into his mouth, but still managed to get some food. I went and found another spoon to speed up the process. By now he’d decided the funny tomatoey stuff with bits of pasta in was more than okay.

So, Nonna’s pasta was a hit. And little LHG is starting to feed himself. Oh, but the mess! He had it all over the tray, on his hands, up his arms, round his face, on the edge of the table against which he was sitting. Time to invest in a bigger bib, methinks. One of those plastic catcher bibs my children used to wear. Though I doubt that’ll even be big enough.

Be careful what you write...

As some of you will know, a couple of years ago I was commissioned by The Daily Mail to write an opinion piece called Why I Don't Want To Be a Grandmother. Much of it revolved around the fact that many grandmothers these days end up minding their grandchildren, and although I wasn't averse to grandmother-hood in itself, there was no way I wanted to be a child-minding grandmother.

Guess what? You know what I'm going to say, don't you? As of last Friday, I have become a childminding Nonna! Only for two days a week, but let me tell you, a day childminding is harder than a week writing. I already knew that, of course, after all, I brought up four children. But I'd forgotten just how hard it is keeping a baby entertained for several hours.

On Friday, I only had dear little LHG for four hours, but I was bushed! Pa offered to look after him on his own the following day, being a Saturday, so I could do other things, though in the end we shared the job.
LHG is of an age now where he wants to be constantly occupied. With no siblings to amuse him, it's down to poor old Nonna and Pa to come up with games. It's amazing how long a baby can be entertained by someone stacking up blocks or beakers for them to knock down. How does that not get tedious after twenty goes?

I remember C being the same as a babe, being the oldest and on her own. You get to a point where you wonder if you ever had a life before their birth, so all encompassing are their needs. Ironically, having two or more children is easier than having one. At least, I found it so. When Peter, Giovanna and Jack, each came along, they had older siblings to play with. Peter in particular would sit for hours in his bouncy chair watching C play. Very laid back. He hasn't changed!

Pa, despite volunteering his solo services, had clearly underestimated how tiring it would be looking after LHG. By 4 o'clock in the afternoon, both he and his grandson were soundo together on the sofa!

That evening we sat in a stupor in front of the TV, fit for nothing but watching a DVD of New Tricks (heaven!). 

As for my Daily Mail article, like more than a third of the things they commission, it never saw the light of day.

Maybe they knew I'd have to eat my words!

Moving On

I see nearly three months have gone by since I last posted. Dear, dear me. It’s a jolly good job that Nonna is more attentive to suo nipote (her grandson) than she is to this poor blog about him.

As you can imagine LHG has grown apace since I last posted. When he hit the six month mark at the beginning of February he certainly had reached three times his birthweight as I predicted in an earlier post.

Thankfully the piling poundage is now slowing down, what with him being so active. He’s just managed to work out how to get from a sitting position to one in which it is possible to crawl, after a few weeks of getting one of his feet stuck. But he hasn’t quite got the hang of what to do next. When he attempts to move, he ends up sprawling on his tummy and moaning in frustration, pushing out his bottom lip as he displays ‘the saddest face in the world’.

It seems far more likely that he will walk before he works out the crawling thing. Already he loves to be led along by the hands as he attempts to lift one foot after another, all the time grinning away. With something to lean against, he can even stand by himself – for a time. Which is why our hands are always there just behind him, ready to catch him as he topples. Not daunted by his mini spills, standing on his own two feet seems to be his favourite thing. Apart from the ‘bouncy bouncy’ game in which he’s jiggled up and down, eliciting a peal of giggles from him.

I’m in no hurry for him to walk however. The prospect of moving everything out of his reach is daunting and something Pa and I haven’t had to think of in about eighteen years. Then there’s the stairs. And bottles of bleach in cupboards. I’ll think about it tomorrow: time for a glass of wine now. Oh dear, I guess the wine rack is something else I’ll have to move when little LHG is mobile! Cheers!

Christmas And The Family That Just Grow'd

Last Christmas with Giovanna in the early stages of pregnancy, little LHG had the prospect of spending his first Christmas with two uncles and an aunt on his mummy's side, along with his Pa and Nonna.

This Christmas, well, talk about Topsy, that cliché for things that 'just grow'd' at a rate beyond what you thought possible. Now, through his Uncle Peter, LHG has acquired a sort-of aunt (Aunty K) and a sort-of step cousin (Cousin B). Through Aunty C he now has a sort-of uncle (Uncle S), along with a further three sort-of step cousins (who thankfully for clarity's sake, don't come into this particular story!).

I say 'sort-of' as no weddings have taken place, but then, how many do these days? Things are more complicated now than they were forty years ago and we have to create new definitions of 'family'.

But this isn't a thesis on modern family dynamics. Getting down to practicalities, a growing family makes Christmas a whole new ball game. To put things in proportion, let me just mention that, as a child, there was invariably only me and my parents every Christmas and Pa's family yuletide wasn't much bigger.

With Uncle Peter spending the day time with Aunty K's parents, there were eight of us this year to unwrap presents, including little LHG, who arrived with his mummy and daddy just after 9.30.

Hurrah, present opening and champagne cocktail guzzling could begin!

We have a tradition amongst the Burgi (our family joke plural of Burgess) that the youngest collects the presents from under the tree and they're given out in age order. The tender age of our newest member along with the Ben Nevis of gifts precluded both of these customs. What we did preserve was the ritual of opening only one present at a time so each could be appreciated before moving on...

...Several hours later, with lunch cooked and eaten in the middle of it all, we finished. Not only were there presents from the eight of us to  the eight of us, but there were some from at least half a dozen other relatives and friends. Even the two dogs, belonging to Aunty C and Uncle S, had several gifts. Dear little LHG definitely had the record for the most pressies. I guess people just love buying stuff for a new baby. Giovanna had been particularly excited about this before Christmas, and I had spent hours on-line looking at different toys with learning potential (once a primary school teacher, always a primary school teacher!).

LHG, with his love of tearing up paper, soon got the hang of unwrapping. With a couple of naps and feeds, plus lunch in between, he finally got through his stash at 5pm.

Time for a break, dessert (we never manage it after the turkey) and a snooze, before the whole thing kicked off again at 8pm with the arrival of Uncle Peter, Aunty K, Cousin B, and their doggie. Imagine it: eleven of us, plus three dogs, sitting in the living room, already crammed with a big Christmas tree and the already opened presents. And cheese and biscuits.

Little LHG went to his other grandparents' the next day, to do it all again, but their family isn't quite as big as ours - yet.

Actually, I think this ultra big family Christmas thing might become quite fun, especially for little LHG. But the 'one present at a time' custom might have to be revised...