I’m also reminded of a line or two in a song from the musical Into The Woods which says “Oh, if life were made of moments, even now and then a bad one! But if life were only moments, then you’d never know you had one.”  I like that too.

And with those two notions at the forefront of my mind, I thought it would be good to write a quick summary of how Samuel has progressed since his birth, charting some of the highlights and milestones of the past 12 weeks.  I guess this is for posterity.  Or reference.  Or guidance.  Or amusement.  Or indeed just to pass the time.

Our son is now twelve and a half weeks old, which equates to almost three months.  He sports a head full of hair, big blue eyes, weighs in at 10lbs 9oz, and is solely breast-fed so far.  And we love him to bits.

Size

Samuel was a relatively big baby when he was born, coming in at a healthy 8lbs 7oz.  He was long, too.  The first week he lost a fair amount of weight though, on account of Ellie’s milk not coming in very well, but after causing a little concern he started putting on the ounces again.  We had him weighed today, as it happens, at the antenatal class we’ve been going to each Tuesday lunchtime.  10lbs 9oz puts him on the 2nd percentile, which is a significant drop from the 25th which is where he started.  Some might be worried by that.  But looking at his progression he’s clearly charting his own line through the statistics rather than following a particular trend.  He’s certainly happy enough, and while he does look a little skinny sometimes he more than makes up for that with length – he grew out of the newborn size clothes fairly early on and moved on to 0-3 months sizes instead, for the length rather than the girth.  We’ll keep an eye on it, but he seems content so far and none the worse for his apparent lack of bulk.  I put it down to him using the energy for growing and development rather than letting it all collect as fat.

Ellie has already noticed him being longer than he used to be.  When he’s laid across her lap to feed, his legs now have to be wrapper around her otherwise he pushes against the side of the sofa and gets himself in the wrong position to feed.  And he’s nearly too big for the pram crib too – it’s a basket type attachment that fits onto the pram frame, and while at first it was used solely as his bed it’s now been demoted to a temporary travel cot.  He’s now sleeping in a large wicker basket, which is around 40 years old and still going strong, and which is significantly longer than most cribs on the market today.  He should be able to stay in that for a good 6 months before we need to move him out into his cot.  Still, we’ve certainly noticed that while he seemed lost in the wicker basket when he was born, he now seems quite at home there.

Feeding

Those first few days were a nightmare.  He wasn’t getting enough milk, and was quite insistent on letting us know all about it.  As a result, very little sleep was had by any of us.  We did try giving him some formula in a bottle, one night when we were almost at the end of our tether, but he wasn’t interested.  Once Ellie’s milk started flowing more freely he lapped it up, and hasn’t needed supplementary bottle feeding at all.  Ellie has been expressing some here and there, so that we can get Samuel used to drinking from a bottle, if only so that we can leave him with someone else for a few hours and know that he won’t go hungry.  I’ve fed him with a bottle once, and it was indescribably satisfying; it’s not something that felt at all natural, and so the privilege to be able to fulfil this role was incredible.

Something I’ve found interesting is noting how naturally and skilfully Samuel feeds.  It wasn’t something we had to teach him to do, and he even has techniques for encouraging more milk to be produced which, again, are not techniques we’ve told him about.  Aside from the natural perfect seal his mouth makes, his jaw quivers every now and then, which apparently helps too, and his hand rubs the top of the breast to encourage the milk to come down.  How does he know to do that?  It’s certainly not something I remember doing, so it’s not something conscious that we’ve taught him or passed on to him.  I’m blown away by just how clever he is, if only because I would never have thought to try those techniques myself, but clearly every baby does!

Ellie feeds on demand, and at the moment that’s around 6-7 times a day for about half an hour each time.  It’s not an exact science, of course, and sometimes he’ll feed more or less depending on what else is going on in the day and how tired he is.  And somehow we know which cry means he’s hungry and which means he’s tired.  I’d never have thought I’d be able to tell the difference.

Sleeping

Samuel got the hang of sleeping fairly early on, thanks to a good awareness of the difference between night and day.  During the day he gets attention, at night he doesn’t.  Sure, we get up to feed him and walk him off to sleep (see my previous post about how I get our baby to sleep), but we don’t talk to him or play with him, and by having that approach right from the start I think that’s helped him learn to sleep differently at night.  From the second or third week he was already sleeping happily with just two feeds in the night, even if he was up and wanting attention by 6am in the morning.  We got used to that routine, and then a few weeks ago he dropped himself down to just one feed in the night, sleeping for longer into the morning, and giving us far more satisfying nights of rest.

The last week hasn’t been quite as good as that, unfortunately, but we don’t think that’s his fault exactly.  He got himself a cold, which made him quite snuffly and coughed a bit, and despite raising his head with blankets and propping the cot up with a couple of big music books (ssh, don’t tell the health visitor), he reverted back to having two feeds in the night, and didn’t like going off to sleep.  I did a lot more walking around the nursery as a consequence of his restlessness, though I am yet to see my muscle tone develop.  Then, when he was just about over the cold, he started another growth spurt, so he slept less and fed more, and generally drained us both (Ellie in particular, in more ways than one) for several nights.  Thankfully he appears to be over that now, and our usual blissful night time routine is being restored.

Playing

When Samuel was born, he didn’t seem quite like a newborn baby.  He wasn’t like we had expected.  He wasn’t like newborn babies are shown on the television.  He was fascinated by everything, and his eyes were wide and focused right from the start, and was intent on looking at us both for a good three hours before he finally relented and went to sleep.  That trend has continued as he’s grown.  Every midwife, health visitor and old lady has commented on how alert he is, how he notices what’s going on, how clearly he sees and recognises people, how much interest he takes in his surroundings.  He’s a clever little boy, our Samuel.

This inquisitiveness is reflected in his play time.  He sits for some considerable time in his bouncy chair, or laid on his play mat, looking at the hanging toys, hitting them, trying to grab hold of them.  Just recently he’s started putting a lot of effort into his hand-eye co-ordination, an effort which is clearly visible in his face.  His eyes are fixed and wide, his mouth pursed and pouted, and you can see his little mind working it all out.  His large sweeping movements are being refined into smaller corrections, lining his hand up with the target object and bringing them just a little closer with each movement until he can touch it.  He hasn’t quite got the hang of the timing yet so that his hand closes around the object at the same time as the moment of impact, but he’s getting there, and he clearly knows what he’s trying to achieve.

He also has a bit of a fascination with lights, whether they’re on or off.  He’s a bit like a fly in that respect.  Now, I personally wouldn’t advise looking directly at a lightbulb, on account of the discomfort it could cause and the resulting spots before the eyes, but apparently none of that bothers him.

Smiling is another of Samuel’s more recent achievements, which he’s now thoroughly enjoying the use of.  At first he smiled more with his eyes than his mouth, which made it quite hard to notice, but soon his mouth followed suit and started twitching in a grin-like fashion.  Then came the wide open mouth version, which lasted for a second or so at most and was therefore almost impossible to capture on camera.  Now, though, he’s mastered the technique a little better, and seems to crave any excuse for a beaming smile.  Quite often his whole body joins in, with his whole face lighting up and even his arms and legs wiggling with delight.  Quite often these smiles come when he’s looking at us.  He’ll usually give us a lovely smile first thing in the morning, as if to say “oooh, it’s you!  I haven’t seen you since last night!”  Then there are other times when he seems to be laughing at us, like when we sing to him or pull funny faces; funny faces less so, admittedly, but he loves being sung to, which fills me with much joy to know that my son is already developing a good sense of musicality.  And what is now very slowly being added to the smile is the beginnings of a laugh.  So far they’ve been pretty much silent, but he’s started to experiment with coupling the smile with a cute little noise, and we fully expect that to develop into a proper laugh in the next few weeks, and we’ll be sure to have the camcorder ready for that.

Pooing

Yes, this needs writing down too, I’m afraid.  Nappy changing was one of the few aspects of childcare that I wasn’t looking forward to, partly I suppose because I had little experience of it.  Yes I have two younger brothers, and yes my Mum used to be a childminder, but I never once changed a nappy.  During the first week I watched Ellie change Samuel (which she did very naturally, on account of having done it before when she used to work at a nursery).  And only after having watched the process several times did I tentatively offer to have a go.  With supervision.  And actually it wasn’t as hard as I’d thought, and before too long I was happy to change Samuel unsupervised, confident in my own ability.

There have been a couple of notable highlights, of course.  A few times the nappies have been extraordinarily smelly, to the extent that I was on the verge of throwing up on account of it.  That’s not a reaction I’ve ever had to a smell before, so it came as a bit of a surprise.  Then there are the times when all the poo finds its way to the front of the nappy instead of the back, or even worse works its way out the side and soils the clothes as well.  The challenge now is keeping Samuel’s limbs out of the line of fire; without the restriction of the nappy, his legs flail wildly about in the ecstasy of freedom, so I have to hold on tightly to both his feet to stop them getting messy.  And just recently he’s discovered that he can reach his hands down there too, at which point I sacrifice my hold on his feet to take control of his hands instead, so although his feet do get a bit messy it tends to be the lesser of two evils.

Bathing

We have a little plastic beige baby bath in which to wash our son, a task that has become a mainstay of his bedtime routine.  Every evening after dinner we give him a bath, get him into his PJs, and then Ellie feeds him off to sleep before putting him down in the basket.  Bath time is a game of two halves, and can be somewhat unpredictable in its success.

First of all we strip him down to his nappy, and then Ellie holds him over the bath while I wipe his face with a flannel and wash the front of his hair.  He doesn’t often like that bit, I think it’s an uncomfortable or insecure position, and he usually complains a bit.  Then Ellie takes his nappy off and he sits in the bath properly.  He isn’t sitting up on his own yet, so Ellie supports him while I do the washing.  First I wash his back with the flannel, which tends to calm him down nicely, and then I wash the hair on the back of his head.  Sometimes we use Johnson’s Baby Shampoo, but usually it’s just water.  Then I get out the Johnson’s Baby Bedtime Wash, which I rub onto his back until it lathers up into bubbles, and rinse.  Then Ellie leans him backwards so I can do his tummy in the same way.  He’s not quite so comfortable with that position either, so we don’t leave him like that for too long.  Once that’s done, he’s free to play until he either gets bored or the water gets cold.  We usually have three or four toys in the bath, and at the moment he spends most of his time trying to either kick them or catch them between his feet.  Apparently that’s easier than trying to grab them with his hands.  Go figure.

So far so good

I’m sure there must be loads I’ve missed, but that’s a good chunk of documented progress.  Suffice to say, he’s come on in leaps and bounds, surprised us with how quickly he’s changed and developed, and brought us immeasurable mountains of joy.  We love him lots and lots and jellytots.

At the weekend we found ourselves in Paignton, staying overnight with my parents.  It’s not the house I grew up in, but it’s a home from home I’ve learned to love.  ‘Home’, for me, will always be Watcombe Park, in that cosy little 3 bedroom house with the back garden that flooded when it rained and the front garden with the rose bush at the end of the path (but that’s another story).  A great many happy memories were generated in that house, from my earliest childhood memories through to leaving home for university.  And now, nearly 25 years on, with a youngun growing fast, I’m conscious that everything we do has an impact in some way, even if he is only 11 weeks old.  Memories are being made, and as a father I have a duty to ensure that they are good memories.

And so, on this somewhat spontaneous visit, I decided it would be a good opportunity to reclaim a few cassette tapes from my youth, to give Samuel something to listen to.  Or, as the case may be, for me to sing along to until such a time as he can join in.

Top of the list was “Tommy’s Tape”, the product of a Challenge Anneka episode (anyone else remember Anneka Rice?).  The aim was for her to create a tape of nursery rhymes starring celebrities within a weekend to raise money for the premature baby ward at St Thomas’ hospital in London.  It was a tall order, as most of them were, but the result was incredible.  Lots of famous people got involved, all at very short notice, including singers like Beverley Craven and Sonia (both of whom were popular at the time), the girls from Birds of a Feather, Right Said Fred, poetry read by Joanna Lumley and Pam Ayres (to name but a few), a very young Phillip Schofield, and all produced by the legendary George Martin.  The quality, especially given how rushed it must all have been, is incredible.

As a quick aside, I really ought to mention just how excited I was to find that someone had posted a video of that entire episode of Challenge Anneka.  It was 1992, Anneka was wearing a luminous pink and blue jacket, they drove around in her iconic beach buggy, and she talked to her film crew.  Even now, memories are flooding back of watching that programme at home, sat around the television as a family… happy days.

Although I wasn’t able to put my hand on any of the other cassette tapes I remembered from my childhood, Tommy’s Tape surfaced easily, and we promptly popped it into the hifi to listen to it.  Sure enough, it was right there, just as fresh and familiar as if it were still 1992.  Then we listened to it in the car on the way home.  Of course, we don’t have a tape player in our lounge, so I decided to hook my wife’s old walkman up to my computer and transfer the whole thing into MP3 format to preserve it from decay.  That meant listening to it all through again.  Shame.  And then once it was all converted and split into its component tracks, I had to listen to the completed album once more to check that it was playing in iTunes correctly.

For reference, for anyone who might be interested in the technical side of the operation, I plugged the walkman into a USB sound card I have, which provides phono input and output connections, and recorded the source in Audacity (one side at a time), normalised the audio (to make sure it’s all at a suitable volume), saved out as an MP3, and then used Logic Express to split the audio track into per-song chunks which could then be ‘bounced’ out as individual MP3 files.  Those MP3 files were then imported into iTunes, where they were ordered and had their ID3 tags filled in with the appropriate details and album art.  Next time, incidentally, I’ll record straight into Logic Express rather than going via Audactiy, as that turned out to be an unnecessary link in the chain.

I have some favourite tracks, of course.  Timmy Mallet’s rendition of The Laughing Policeman has to be the best I have ever heard.  Beverley Craven’s Hush Little Baby is beautiful, and will undoubtedly make its way onto Samuel’s relaxing nursery playlist.  And I reckon Joanna Lumley’s delightful and expressive performance of Jabberwocky must be definitive; if you know of a better recording, I’d like to hear it.  And the three tracks that have been unrelentingly on my mind the last few days are Sam Brown’s Nellie The Elephant, Julia Fordham’s The Ugly Duckling and Sonia’s Who’s Afraid Of The Big Bad Wolf, not because they’re necessarily the best songs ever recorded, but because they’re just so catchy.

So thank you, Anneka, for a superb collection of nursery rhymes and children’s songs, which I am still listening to 18 years on and which, thanks to the joys of technology, is now immortalised in my iTunes collection.  And no, you won’t find this album in the iTunes store, nor even on Amazon I wouldn’t have thought, because it was only produced as a tape, there were only ever 10,000 of them, and it was sold exclusively through WHSmith’s.  So if you want to listen to it, you may just have to come and visit us.

So now I have a collection of other tapes that need converting, now that I’ve successfully transfered this one.  If you need me at all in the next few weeks, I’ll probably be in my study, surrounded by cables, cassette tapes and headphones…

And the A303 is a fantastic road to experience that reality.  I’ve been driving on it a lot recently, and each journey has built upon the last my love and appreciation for what, for many, is just a road.  You see, the A303 isn’t like a motorway.  It’s slower, certainly, but it’s more scenic, more interesting to drive, and requires more skill to navigate effectively.  Now, I’m not saying that you have to be a qualified driver to make it all the way down the road, it’s not exactly precarious, but being a Driver means I can appreciate and embrace all the twists and turns, the adverse cambers, the ever-changing gradients, the varying speed limits, the wavering lane widths, the unpredictable surface quality.  For someone trying to get from A to B, the A303 is an inefficient pain in the neck that urgently needs resurfacing and making dual-carriageway the entire length of it.  And that’s why I love it so.

On Friday we went to Exmouth to visit my grandparents.  We took the A37 from Shepton Mallet down to the A303, which became the A30 before joining the M5 for a single junction, and then peeling off onto another A road that took us to Exmouth.  And in the evening, after much chat and a lovely lunch, we came back.

Then, on Saturday, having discovered that the puppet workshop that had prevented us going to the family party that afternoon had been cancelled at the last minute, we drove to Exmouth again.  It was an unexpected joy to be able to join the family for Grandpa’s birthday, and it was wonderful to see everyone.  It’s been a while since their front room has been that crowded!

And in the evening, instead of repeating the journey again, we turned left at the M5 and headed down the A380 to Paignton to stay overnight at my parents’ house.  We went to church with them on Sunday morning, said hello to lots of old friends, showed off our Samuel, and after a Sunday roast we headed home, back along the A303 again.

So you might say I’ve had more than my usual helping of A303 this weekend.  And despite an aching lower back and very tired eyes, I loved every minute of it.

There are some high points that I’d like to share with you, but I’d actually like to start with a particular favourite that happens to be on the A30, heading away from Exeter.  Once the noisy concrete dual-carriageway melts away into country lanes and we begin the climb into the Blackdown Hills, there is a beautiful stretch where the trees envelope the road like a tunnel, wrapping you in a warm, dark blanket of leaves and dappled light in the summer.  And in the winter when the trees are bare you can peer through the gaps and see out over a wide and glorious valley, with houses nestled in the hills on the far side.

Then the A30 melts into the A303, and the thrill continues to grow.  The hills come one after the other, with not a straight bit of road to be seen.  At one point there is a tight corner, signposted at being 25mph maximum.  With an empty car, with firm suspension and precise balance (like a Mini, for instance), this corner can be taken at 40mph at least by someone with skill and guts.  I know.  It doesn’t take a car with an enormous engine to enjoy good handling, I did it in a 998cc Mini City.

All along there are corners of various tightness, some requiring more concentration than others.  There are plenty of opportunities for making use of the whole width of the lane, clipping the apex as you go round, and taking a series of successive bends as if it were a chicane.  There are hills both steep and long, each requiring a different timing for an effective down-shift.  Changing gear, after all, is not a science – it’s an art; beautiful in its arrangement, flexible in its execution, expressive in its delivery.  You can tell a lot about a person by the way they change gear.  And the A303 is a wonderful road to exhibit all these different driving skills in a safe environment, without the danger of a rally course or race track, without the speed, without the risk to life and limb.  It’s just a road.  It just happens to be a beautiful one, that brings out the true colours of a person’s driving.

And yes, I am a geek, for all that, if only because I know about hitting apexes and think about cars as body parts.  I am, after all, a Driver.

P.S. While writing this post I came across a fantastic road dictionary, complete with cartoon illustrations.  Well worth a read for anyone interested in knowing a little more about our roads.

I must point out, of course, that this is not a magic solution.  Every baby is different, and what works for us may not work for you.  But feel free to try it, and see if it helps.

Introduction

First, let me explain how I came by this revelation.  When Samuel was born, getting him to sleep was a bit hit and miss.  Sometimes he would seem dead to the world, but if we moved him even slightly he would wake up and start crying again.  We’d read about the ‘limp limb test’, where you raise one of his arms a couple of inches and drop it, and if he doesn’t stir then it’s safe to move him.  That didn’t work.  Samuel wouldn’t bat an eyelid at having his arm moved, but change his position and he’d complain.

And then it hit me – he goes to sleep like I do.  Amazingly, I knew exactly how he felt, and why it seemed such hard work, because I take forever to get to sleep (unlike my wife, who’s out like a light in minutes); on a good night, if I’m really tired, it may only take me 15-20 minutes to get to sleep, whereas if I’ve got a lot on my mind then it could be a couple of hours.  And, according to my parents, I’ve always been like that, and drove them mad too.  But armed with that revelation we found ourselves better able to gauge how asleep Samuel was.

I’ve therefore developed a scale, like a speedometer, to gauge the amount of sleepiness, and a set of 5 milestones that have to be achieved if Samuel (or I) is successfully to be put to bed.  And here it is:

On the far right hand side is the maximum level of awakeness, which is what Samuel is at during the day when he’s playing and looking and stuff.  On the far left is where sleep begins, with the scientifically-proven stages of sleep, like REM and non-REM and suchlike.  In between is what I go through, and apparently Samuel too, to get from one state to the other.  Most people go from one to the other without difficulty, but for me and my son it’s a complex 5 stage process, which has to be understood to be effectively put into practice.

Stage 1 – Feeling sleepy

The first stage is when Samuel starts to feel tired.  He’ll get grumpy, he’ll whine for no apparent reason, he’ll rub his eyes and fidget, and don’t even think about getting a smile.  I include this as stage 1 because it’s important to note the beginning of the transition from awake to asleep.  Once this first stage has been established it’s a good idea to try to get to stage 2 quickly, otherwise he just gets more and more agitated at being awake.

Stage 2 – Body begins to relax

At this stage Samuel’s eyes will begin to droop, he’ll stop fidgeting, and he’ll become more relaxed.  Most people who don’t know him will often say at this point “oh, he’s nearly asleep”.  If only.  My wife and I know there is still a lot of work to do yet before we get to that!  This stage is about gradually allowing the body to relax and un-tense from the agitation of Stage 1.

If we put Samuel down at this point he’ll bounce back to Stage 1 and become even more upset at being awake still.  That said, it is possible to deliberately wake him up from this stage if we need him to be awake for something.

Stage 3 – Body is relaxed

Now Samuel’s eyes are closed, his limbs are limp, and to look at you’d say he was asleep.  But inside his mind is still whirring and working away, still fully aware of what’s going on around him.  The ‘limp limb test’ might indicate full sleep here, or it might stir him enough to bounce him back to Stage 2.  If we put him down, he’ll notice, and bounce back to Stage 2, possibly Stage 1.  Because the mind is still very much active, it doesn’t take much to re-engage the body and wake up again.  In fact, if he isn’t entirely comfortable he’ll be able to wake himself up in an instant, eyes wide open, as if he’d never felt sleepy at all.

Stage 4 – Mind begins to relax

From here on in it becomes a little more like guesswork, because there are few outwards signs of what stage he’s in.  One key sign though is the breathing rate – in Stage 3 Samuel will still be breathing fairly quickly, but as he makes the transition through Stage 4 his breathing slows and becomes less noticeable.

For an active mind, this is the hardest part of getting to sleep, because it means voluntarily letting go of reality and surrendering to the unknown world of unconsciousness.  While the first three stages can be crossed in a matter of 10 minutes, Stage 4 often takes much longer.  If you’ve ever consciously tried to think of nothing, you’ll know that it’s not at all easy.

Putting Samuel down at this point is a bit hit and miss, because in all likelihood he’ll notice what’s happening.  If he’s really tired, he might be able to get to the final stage on his own, but most of the time, especially in the early days, he needed help getting there.  Moving him might bounce him back to Stage 2, and we’d have to go through it all again.

Stage 5 – Mind is relaxed

This is the doorway to slumberland.  By the time we reach this stage, Samuel has finally let go of consciousness and allowed his conscious mind and allowed his subconscious to run free.  This is sleep.  And now, after maybe 30-45 minutes, we can put him in his cot and leave him.  There’s a possibility that moving him might bounce him back to Stage 4, but if he’s already surrendered his mind once then doing it again won’t be difficult, and he’ll settle into sleep just fine.

During sleep Samuel will dream, and go through the peaks and troughs of semi-consciousness that will be documented in any good scientific explanation.  At the peaks, Samuel will make occasional noises, move his limbs around, breathe in suddenly, and may even stir himself to the point of returning to Stage 4.  Thankfully, this is usually short-lived, and he returns to sleep seconds later.  It is only if he has stirred himself too much, or if we happen to make noise as he’s slipping into Stage 4, or if he’s hungry, that he’ll wake more fully and start crying for attention.

How that works out in practice

That’s the theory, now for a quick run-down of what my wife and I do to help our son through that process.

Ellie often feeds Samuel to sleep.  Curled up against her, he gets himself comfortable and feeds until he falls asleep.  Feeding, it seems, is a very relaxing and soothing activity!  Once feeding has established, he’ll very easily slip into Stage 2, almost bypassing Stage 1 completely, and once he’s full he’ll happily move on to Stage 3.  As he goes through Stage 4, there may be occasional sucks, if milk happens to be readily available there, but he’s not sucking for any reason other than comfort by this point.  In fact, feeding is so relaxing that Ellie can often take him upstairs and put him in the cot when he’s still in Stage 4, and he’ll take himself off the rest of the way without complaining.

I don’t have the benefit of being able to feed Samuel, so I employ different tactics.  If he doesn’t settle at night, I’ll take him into the nursery and walk around with him cradled in my arms.  He usually cries a lot initially, because he wants to be asleep and he’s frustrated at still being awake.  Stage 2 sometimes lasts 20 minutes.  Walking gently around the room seems to help though; the regular rhythm is soothing, and I find accentuating each step ever so slightly by pushing my stomach out a little often speeds things along a bit.  As Samuel makes the transition from Stage 2 to Stage 3, I often change from walking around the room to walking on the spot.  I use a triangular step pattern: right foot back, left foot forward, right foot forward, left foot back, right foot forward, left foot forward, repeat.  It’s not quite as jolting as walking properly, but maintains the regular rhythm, and is a natural progression from walking to laying still.  I’ll keep doing that until Samuel is well into Stage 4, at which point I’ll switch to gentle swaying instead.  Once Stage 5 has been reached, I’m safe to walk back across the landing to our bedroom and put him in his cradle.

We’ve experimented with music and light levels, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference to him.  The music does more for my sanity than it does for Samuel.  And he doesn’t seem bothered whether there is light in the room or not.  Gentle patting on the back, either with the whole hand or just a finger, sometimes helped when I was walking him around the room, but only if he was really agitated and walking alone wasn’t comfort enough.  We also try not to talk to him or make too much eye contact at night, so that he knows the difference between night and day, and that waking in the night won’t get him much in the way of attention; hopefully if we drill that into him early he’ll take that into his toddler years!

He’s much better now (10 weeks) than he was in those early weeks.  Back then, putting Samuel in the cradle was like a delicate operation, as we slowly and carefully tried to reposition him without waking him so that we could put him down.  We’d do it in stages: a minute or so just stood in the room, so he became acclimatised to the smell and temperature of the room; then we’d gently reposition our hands so that he was being held in such a way that we could put him down, but still holding him close to us for warmth and the familiar smell; then we’d move him away from ourselves a few inches, and hold for a few seconds; then gently lower him into the cradle, keeping our hands in place for consistency and to act as a buffer between his head and the cold sheets; then we’d gently slide out hands out from underneath him, but keeping them in the cot for the comfort of radiated warmth; and then, if he was still settled, we’d be able to back off a little, but still stay close for a minute or so to make sure he stayed asleep.  And only when all of that had been done could we leave the room.  Now, thankfully, it’s a much quicker process, because he’s more able to settle himself, so even if we do make him stir as we put him down he’s likely to take himself back off on his own.

So there you have it.  That’s how I get our son to sleep.  It might not work for your baby, but it might be of some help to someone.  You may find some useful tips here.  If nothing else, it should be an interesting insight into the mechanisms of sleep, even if it only applies to me and my son!

And it’s high time for an update, I’m sure you’ll agree.  A certain person has been on my case for days, if not weeks, asking for a photo of a smiling baby that I’d promised her.  I had intended on putting it on my blog, but that wasn’t working, so I emailed it to her in the end.  But, for those of you who are not Sarah, a photo of my darling son is in this post – the first I managed to capture of him smiling.

Samuel is doing really well at the moment.  Some of you may remember that the first week or two were really difficult, with him not sleeping well at all, and Ellie and I didn’t get much sleep either.  Thankfully things are almost infinitely better now, far better than I’m sure they’re supposed to be by now.  The last week has been bliss.  Last night, to take an example, Samuel went down at 8pm and slept for 7 hours, woke up (quietly too, I didn’t wake up at all) for an hour’s feed, and then went back to sleep for another 3 hours.  That’s 10 hours of sleep.  At 9 weeks.  Someone pinch me.

Of course, that may all change tonight.  You see, this morning Samuel had the first of his jabs.  We took him down to the surgery in the village, sat in the waiting room for a bit trying to keep him entertained, before finally taking him through to see the nurse for two injections, one in each thigh.  He was happy enough when he went in, curious as always and on the verge of smiling at anyone and anything, and then something sharp and painful happened.  Naturally, he wasn’t impressed.  Ellie and I both tried to be as positive and cheery as possible, not wanting to pass on any hint of worry or stress that the baby could pick up on, but it still wrenched my insides to hear him scream in pain.  The result, so I’m told, is that he’ll probably have sore legs for a couple of days, probably be a bit grumpy, might get a temperature, and might sleep a lot more than usual.  But every baby is different, hence all those ‘might’s and ‘probably’s.

What’s really struck me today is how strong the parental instinct is, and how overwhelming the bond of love is.  I have reasons for loving my wife.  It was a conscious decision.  My love for Samuel is entirely different; it’s beyond reason, completely without logic, and limitless.  And I don’t understand how it got there.  Today I had to take my son, whom I love, to have two painful injections.  And I’m almost sure it hurt me as much as it hurt him.

I see parallels there with God’s love for us, which I thought I might share with you.  Now, some people find it hard to believe that there is a God, and if there is they find it difficult to believe that he loves them, as evidenced by all the pain and suffering and evil in the world.  Let me put it to you this way: I love my son very much, and yes I did have the power and authority to shelter Samuel from the pain of those injections, but I chose not to.  He won’t understand why it happened, and it would be pointless me trying to explain it to him.  And it pained me to watch him go through it, especially because I knew it was coming and he didn’t.  But I could see the bigger picture.  I knew it would all turn out well in the end.  And as much as it hurt (both of us), I still love him.  God does let bad things happen sometimes, and we are without hope of understanding why or how it could work out for the best, and we sometimes feel like blaming God and accusing him of hating us.  But God’s relationship with us is like a father – he cares for you, more than you’ll ever understand, and while he may not want you to hurt, sometimes it’s necessary.

Anyway, back on topic, Samuel has actually been very good today, despite his ordeal.  He hasn’t developed a temperature or any adverse side effects, and apart from being tired and having sore thighs he seems absolutely fine.  What an answer to prayer!  Let’s hope he sleeps well tonight.

Finally, a quick shout out to some uni friends who had a baby a couple of days ago – congratulations to Tim and Beth, and their little Caitlin!  They’ll have more details, I’m sure, so I won’t spoil the surprise, but many warm wishes and blessings to you three!

So apologies for the lack of content here lately, when I get it all back up and running again I hope things will return to normal, with posts planned about how I get Samuel to sleep, video editing, rants about Google Buzz, revelations about split infinitives, and so on and so forth.

Now, I see myself as a very level-headed person.  I don’t get stressed, I don’t get angry, I don’t judge people.  Until I get into a car, apparently.  While on the roads recently I’ve noticed just how much I judge the other road users, mentally criticising their driving abilities and in some cases even their choice of car.  It came as a bit of a surprise, actually, that I would so easily fall into this habit of judgement.  So I thought I’d share with you what form this judgement takes.

Middle lane hoggers are widely accepted as being excruciatingly annoying, not just to me but pretty much everyone (which begs the question: if everyone hates them, who are all these people in the middle lane?).  I make a point of observing the rules of the road, pulling into the inside lane (no, not the slow lane, that’s not what it’s called and isn’t what it’s for) and only changing lane to overtake.  If there’s a car in front sitting in the middle lane and not overtaking anything, it winds me up.  I’ll deliberately come along in the inside lane, and then when the coast is clear pull across all three lanes, right behind them, overtake, and then go back into the inside lane.  Obviously I do this with all the required signalling and mirroring, leaving safe distances and not swerving.  Obviously.  But the intention of this is to make it absolutely clear to the other person that I do not approve of them being in the middle lane, and remind them that they should be in the inside lane.  Frustratingly, very seldom do they take the hint.  Clearly they’re just not concentrating on the road, and should probably have their drivers license torn up and their car crushed.  Let’s see you flaunt the traffic rules now…

Speed is another of my pet hates.  I make a point of driving at 70mph at all times, unless I have to slow down to let others past before I overtake something.  69 is too slow.  71 is too fast.  It has to be bang on 70 for me to be satisfied.  So if I overtake someone, they’re doing less than 70, and I then have to wonder why.  Okay, if they’re a lorry, coach or a car pulling a trailer then that’s allowed, because they’re limited to 60.  But for anyone else, if they have a fairly modern car, there is absolutely no reason to be doing less than 70mph.  The car is capable of it, it’s safe for them to do so.  If they’re not prepared to be driving that fast, that brings into question their ability to control the car at those speeds, in which case they shouldn’t be there in the first place.  Driving at 70 doesn’t take any more skill than driving at 60, so if someone decides that 70 is too fast then I would say that they should be equally cautious about driving at 60, and if they’re not safe driving at 70 then I’m not sure I want to be sharing the road with them, frankly.

That can also be turned on its head, of course.  Anyone overtaking me is clearly doing more than 70mph.  That is in clear defiance of the speed limit, and is therefore against the law.  And don’t give me any of those poor excuses about the 10% allowance for the speedo – that may have been a problem in the past but modern cars are all very reliable now.  If you’re overtaking me, you’re flaunting the traffic rules and are therefore irresponsible.  Or, alternatively, you’re not paying attention to your speed, and are therefore careless and unsafe.  In any case, if you’re overtaking me then you too deserve to be banned from the roads.

Then I get onto the choice of car.  I have a cheap and cheerful Ford Escort.  It’s not big, it’s not clever, it’s not killing the world.  It’s safe and well built, and I’ve found it to be very reliable.  My only gripe is that its engine is too big.  It has a 1.8 litre Zetec engine, which develops around 120bhp.  That’s more than I need, really, as fun as it is.  Cruising along the motorway, you shouldn’t really need to use any more than 30bhp anyway.  So when someone speeds past me in a sports car, or an executive saloon, I scoff.  You with your 3 litre turbocharged engine.  You, sat in your Porshe or your Merc, burning fuel like it’s going out of fashion, with millions of horsepowers sitting there doing nothing.  Not only is that an insult to the car, which is capable of far more than you are letting it do, but it’s also a complete waste of money and petrol.  If you’re desperate for a leather interior, fine, get a top of the range Mondeo with a diesel engine.  The only reason you could legitimately have to own a car with more than, say, 150bhp, is if you’re either pulling a heavy load or you’re doing motorsport on a race track somewhere.  Public roads therefore do not need lambos and bentleys.  If you’re driving one on the same road as me, you’re in the wrong place.

And then there are the people who don’t indicate before making a manoeuvre.  The people who pull into your lane right in front of you giving you no safe distance between.  The people who drive insanely close to your back end.  The people who forget to put their lights on when it gets dark.  The people who swerve from one side of the lane to the other without any apparent control of the car.  The people who lob their finished cigarette ends out of the window to be caught up in the air intake of the car behind.

And with all that judgement acknowledged, I hang my head in shame.  Not because I’m guilty of the same flaws, because I’m not.  I’m guilty of judging everyone else on the road.  By doing so, I’ve unwittingly placed myself at the top of the pack, better than everyone else, without blame.  And not only is that unfair to all the drivers I’ve not noticed, but it’s not a very healthy opinion to have of myself either.  I am not a perfect driver, much as I would love to be, and even if I was it’s not my place to criticise other road users, even if it is only in the silent confines of my own thoughts.

So, if I’ve ever shared the road with you, I apologise for my judgmentalism.  And let us all drive on in peace and unity together…

So, here are the words to the song, “Jesus your name is higher”.  I don’t have the music written out yet, but when I do I’ll try and make sure that finds its way onto here too.  

Jesus your name is higher

Verse 1

Wake us, revive us,
shake us, inspire us to believe.
Take us, mould us,
change us by your transforming love.

We are your hands and mouth and feet,
your great commission we’ll fulfil:
to tell all the world of all you’ve done.

Chorus

Jesus your name is higher,
Jesus your grace is greater,
Jesus your love has defeated our sin.
Jesus your church is listening,
Jesus your church is reaching,
Jesus, your people declaring your name.

Verse 2

Teach us, renew us,
inform us and change the way we see.
Fill us, empower us,
prepare us and send us to your world.

We are your hands and mouth and feet,
your great commission we’ll fulfil:
to tell all the world of all you’ve done.

Chorus

Words and music copyright (C) Matthew Dawkins 2009

It’s deliberately quite a simple song to learn, which makes it great for a worship slot, but the tune is also quite catchy and a good congregational anthem.  Thematically it’s about individuals coming together as the Body of the Church, empowered by the Holy Spirit, with the aim of actively demonstrating God’s love in the world around us.  God’s commission to us to spread the gospel isn’t a passive one; we need to be showing people God’s love through what we do every day, telling them of God’s passion through what we say in normal conversation.  We need to rise to the challenge and be God’s hands and feet in this land.

On Saturday we drove up to Bristol to see lots of people – Christopher’s fiancee’s parents were playing host to my parents for the day, with a view to providing an opportunity for Christopher and Sarah to show their respective parents around the wedding venues.  And it was a good excuse to all meet up and eat food.  There was no particular wedding-related reason for our presence, I think Sarah just wanted to see Samuel.

So, up to Bristol we drove.  And, to add to my excitement, I got to drive underneath the Clifton Suspension Bridge, which I have never had cause to do before (I’ve been over it a few times, but never under).  Little pleasures.  Samuel slept pretty much all the way, as he tends to do whenever we’re travelling at more than 30mph – he seems to be a human speedometer, letting us know quite noisily if we’re not going fast enough.

It was lovely to meet Sarah’s family.  She’s just like her Mum.  I hope she doesn’t mind me saying that.  Samuel, as was to be expected, was the centre of attention once more.  He was hungry though, initially, after a long hour+ stint without feeding (shock horror), but once he had been satisfied he happily did the rounds and said hello to everyone.  My Mum got a lovely beaming smile, which was so lovely to see – he’s been slowly playing with the idea of smiles in recent days, and that one was very clearly a smile of recognition.  It made me so proud.  Well and truly blog-worthy.

Eating for us took a little more patience, because the roast hadn’t gone in as soon as Sarah’s Mum had wanted, but we passed the time by watching some video footage of Christmas that my Dad had filmed and edited and put on a DVD to show people.  It was nice to see what we missed.  Looks like they had a lot of musical fun at our Exmouth Grandparents’ house, with several duets being played by various people, and even the legendary “Qui Vive” piano trio – that’s six hands, three people on one piano, all at the same time, reading the same piece of music.  I’ve played it before, with my Dad on one side and Grandpa on the other, and this Christmas it was Christopher’s turn in the middle.  It’s a hellish piece to play, with far too many flats and key changes to be at all sensible, and with all of us effectively sight-reading it’s never a polished performance.  Still, they muddled through, but the most entertaining part of the video was watching their faces as they played!

After lunch, where I ate beef for the first time in years and had half a glass of white wine (I don’t think Ellie was too pleased, she was worried it would all go to my head and I was driving home) and we had some absolutely scrumptious desserts, we headed off to the church.  There had been mention of us going by car, but it was a lovely day and we had the pram with us, so we all wrapped up and set off to burn off some calories.  It was nice and hilly, which I enjoyed, and it was a pleasant 20 minute stroll to the church, which is where the wedding is going to take place.  It’s actually a lovely little church, very thoughtfully decorated inside – beautiful without being over the top, reverent without being staid, traditional without being cold.  And then we walked back.  I particularly enjoyed the conversation I had with my Mum on the return journey.

And Samuel was a little darling the whole time.  He hadn’t slept well Thursday night, which has us a little worried; he kept stirring and not going back to sleep, and seemed far too intent on looking at things than going to sleep, which is fine during the day but not so great during the night.  He just didn’t seem comfortable, and kept Ellie awake more than usual.  His nappies had been quite green too, which we’re told is quite normal (ish) but can be a sign that he has an upset stomach.  We were very relieved to find that his dirty nappy in Bristol was a lovely mustard colour, which is a good sign!  It’s surprising how much of a relief a dirty nappy can be in the right context.

After all that walking we got straight back into the car and headed off to see my Grandparents, who also live in Bristol.  The journey took us from one side of Bristol to the other, and because we were driving at rush hour (even on a Saturday) it was pretty busy.  Samuel didn’t take to that well, and complained every time we stopped at a red light, of which there were many.  And also when we were stuck in traffic, which was frequent.  And also when we weren’t flying along at 30mph, which was most of the time.  In short, he cried almost all the way, and only went to sleep a few minutes from Grandma’s house, just in time for us to wake him up again.  Typical.

Grandma was thrilled to see us, as always, but her excitement at seeing her great-grandson overshadowed it all.  We arrived at the door, and almost before we’d had a chance to say hello she’d taken Samuel from us, car seat and all, and whisked him off to the lounge amidst a torrent of cooing and bubbliness.  It was fun to watch!  She eventually calmed down a little and returned to type, providing us all with cups of tea.  And then we sat round the TV and watched my DVD of Samuel, some of which was a duplication of Dad’s footage of Draisey Day, and some of which was just Samuel playing on his playmat.  Only 12 minutes of it, but it was nice to have something to show them.  I think Dad was quite pleased to be offered to keep the DVD too, for his records!

And so, after a long day of seeing people on various sides of family, past present and future, we headed home.  Samuel slept in the car pretty much all the way home, as did Ellie.  By the time we got back, Samuel was still very tired; he’d had a very long day and hardly slept at all, he’d been so interested in what was going on around him, and he was exhausted.  As soon as we got in we got his bath ready and started his bedtime routine.  He cried and complained though, and when we laid him on his back to wash his front he screamed blue murder, which had me scared.  Bathtime was short and not much fun, and we skipped straight onto the bedtime feed, which seemed much more up his street.  And then followed an unusually long night of peaceful sleep.  Seems he was just so tired that a bath wasn’t what he wanted.  So it’s all good after all.  Which is nice.

Anyway, enough of this mushy stuff, back to the story.

AM and Sarah came to visit on Thursday, having made the journey in Sarah’s little blue Fiesta all the way from Colchester (a good 4 hour drive, not including loo stops), and arrived on our doorstep laden with hugs and presents for Samuel.  Both their presence and their presents were very much appreciated (see what I did there?).

Of course, because our previously vacant spare room is now a fully occupied nursery, they had booked a few nights at a local B&B (Belfield House, in case you’re interested).  Not sure why that’s important, but I thought I’d mention it anyway.

As a matter of fact, very little was ‘done’ during their visit.  We didn’t go and see the sights, we didn’t go to the cinema, we didn’t go for a long walk in the countryside.  We just sort of sat.  And chatted.  And that was just fine by us.  On the Friday I didn’t see a huge amount of them, in fact, because I was still working, so I left them to it downstairs to chat some more and marvel at the wonderous bundle of joy that is our son.  After all, this was the first time they’d actually seen him in the flesh – a Skype video call doesn’t quite mean the same thing as holding him in your arms for real.

AM came with two surprises up her sleeve.  First was a taggie blanket.  If you’ve not come across them before, you’ve clearly never lived.  They’re a simple blanket, except that all around the edge are as many tags as possible.  The idea sprung from some bright spark’s observation that little children always seem more interested in the silky label on soft toys than the toys themselves, and exploited the fascination by making something that was more label than toy.  Hence the taggie blanket.  Of course, Anne-Marie being Anne-Marie, this one was hand-made.  Every single tag is made of a different material.  Some are narrow, some are wide, some are frilly, some are lacy, some are stretchy, some are stringy, some are silky, some are furry, some are green.  Brilliant.

The second surprise we didn’t get until the Friday, because AM hadn’t finished it.  Or, rather, she’d almost finished it but hadn’t put it in the frame yet.  It’s a beautiful cross-stitched picture of Noah’s Ark, with Samuel’s name written underneath.  It’ll look lovely hung on the nursery wall.

We also went round Tesco on the Friday, which is something the four of us haven’t done in years.  Causing havoc in a supermarket: Check.

When it comes to local attractions, in all honesty there isn’t a lot to choose from.  I guess that’s one of the inevitable downsides to living in the middle of nowhere.  So when we took the girls to Wells, it wasn’t much of a surprise that they weren’t exactly bowled over.  It is, after all, a far cry from some other cities you could go to.  In fact, calling Wells a city is something of a gross over-exaggeration.  It’s a small town, but anyone else’s standards.  It just happens to be one of the most concentrated areas of civilisation in our rural corner of Somerset.  And it has a cathedral to boot.  It’s a nice cathedral, though; far bigger and more impressive than you’d expect from such an otherwise miniature town.

So we all hopped in the car and went to Wells.  We wandered through town, and I made a point of telling them to take in the sights, just in case they missed them.  Through town was just a short walk, and we found ourselves in the famous Wells marketplace, a bustling hive of stall-based commerce.  At least, that’s what the locals would have called it.  I don’t think AM or Sarah were convinced.  It didn’t take long to wander round, and there wasn’t much to hold their attention.  I saw some pretty clocks.  Sarah found some gaffer tape.  Anne-Marie bought a little 2010 diary.  And that pretty much exhausted Wells.  We did wander round the cathedral for a while though, not all together though because Samuel decided to choose that location as the best for a good scream (maybe he’s got an ear for acoustics).

And when we got back, I fixed Sarah’s car.  She’d been on the lookout in Wells for gaffer tape because she had decided she needed to tape up the glove box door to stop it falling open.  All the way down from Colchester it had been resting against AM’s shins, which apparently wasn’t all that comfortable.  Turns out the hinges were loose, and all they needed was for the screws to be tightened.  Gaffer tape may be the solution to all problems, but there are solutions and solutions.  We then turned out attention to the screen washers, which were apparently pathetic.  Sure enough, the washer tank was empty, so I helped her fill it.

We also checked the oil level, while the bonnet was open.  To my horror (which I tried to hide) the engine was empty.  Not just sitting on the minimum marker on the dip stick, oh no, this was barely wetting the very end.  Not good.  How the car survived the journey down, I really don’t know.  Then again, the same thing happened with Neddy when I bought him; I drove that Mini all the way from Kent to Essex with no oil in the engine, which isn’t supposed to be possible, and it lived to tell the tale.  Clearly, God works miracles even when we don’t realise we should be asking for them.  Anyway, we hopped into my car and went to the garage to get some supplies, and came back and filled the Fiesta’s dry engine with several litres of oil.  It was a hefty bottle, so there was still some left, which is good because she’ll have some for next time she needs to top up (which hopefully will only be a small amount next time).

And then we said our goodbyes.  It had been wonderful to have them to visit.  They’d kept us entertained with their banter, they’d all had cuddles with Samuel (despite a growth spurt kicking in as they arrived, which made him a little more grumpy than usual) and watched him having his bath.  And on Saturday evening we all exchanged yet more hugs and waved them off; they’d spend the night at the B&B again before heading off back to Colchester in the morning.

So thank you, dear friends and sisters, for keeping us company and making us laugh and sharing our joy and drinking our drinks.