My rest and peace child

I have absolutely no excuse whatsoever for not updating this blog since I was in hospital with The Starchild, tethering my Google Chromebook to my Windows 8 Phone in order to maintain sane in an Internetless world. I'm quite certain that people wouldn't remain sick in hospital for quite so long if there was free WiFi.
Sort it out NHS.

Mostly, I have been avoiding becoming A Mummy Blogger.
I have no idea why, all of the ones I read are freaking hilarious. And I hate the term mummy blogger, I read just as many Daddy Bloggers so let's just call them Parent Bloggers. Athankyou.

But, I don't want to fall into the trap of only having my child to talk about, or becoming obsessed with bowel movements. I already limit myself to a maximum number of photographs posted of him on Facebook per week. And fail to adhere to it EVERY SINGLE WEEK.
So all my blogging efforts have been directed towards Everything Goes With Toast which is quite handy because breastfeeding means that I can eat more than Adam Richman at a hog roast. Tonight I made lavender marshmallow crispy buns LIKE A BOSS. Do excuse all the capitals. I'm on a sugar high of epic proportions. For science.

I would like to use Mikey as an excuse for not blogging, as in EHHHRMAGGERRRDDD I don't have the tiiiiimmmme. But I can't - because he is The Official Perfect Child. For serious, my friends hate me because I get a full night's sleep, my house remains clean and tidy and I still get to do all the things I love. I can put him down to amuse himself in his little play gym and knock out a blog, or tweet people, or email people, or do laundry. Or make toast. Mmmm toast. The Husband and I put him to bed and then get to spend quality time together every night. At least on the nights he's not working away - so I could blame him. But I can't because he's currently sat next to me on the sofa watching TiVod stuff whilst I type this.

So having established that it is absolutely and unequivocally my fault that this little corner of the internet is gathering dust, I shall indeed face my fears and blog about Starchild. Because like every mother I assume that everyone will agree that he's SO FREAKING CUTE and want to know about him.
But he is, really. He's so funny and so sweet. Every time he smiles at me I just melt - and he smiles a lot. I am a veritable puddle half the time. Soggy. Sodden.

He is 17 weeks old now, teething, weighs around 11lbs and is full of fun.

He loves me to read to him. He loves to stand on his own feet with me holding his hands. He loves sensory play and massage. He loves listening to music. He weirdly likes me to sing to him, crazy little dude. He will sit on my lap in a restaurant whilst I have lunch with a friend and behave beautifully, he'll sleep on my lap during a film at The Everyman Cinema, but for some reason he always cries in Waitrose. He loves having a bath. He has tremendous style - I LOVE his clothes and hats and for goodness sake socks.

Motherhood is a blast. I love carrying him around in his sling and I love watching him discover the world. From the first time he smiled to the first time he rolled over, it astounds me that I helped to create this tiny wonderful creature and better yet, I get to keep him.

Would you like to see some more pictures? Sure you would! Clicky clicky

Ziggy played guitarrrrrraaaaarrrrraaaarrrrrr.
Title: The Prettiest Star by David Bowie