and baby Finn makes three...

about birthing I'll say nothing, thus joining the great conspiracy amongst women to protect one another from the most primal and animal experience one can conceive of...

Finn was born at about 8pm on MArch 29th. When they put his slimy wriggling little self onto my chest for the first time all the pain made complete and perfect sense.

Now we're one week in and just starting to find some rhythms and not live in a constant state of terror!
All control, all 'knowledge' and all assumptions have been rolled up with the dirty nappies and thrown in the bin as we tussle with a highly scheduled routine of preparing for feeds, feeding, burping away Finn's hiccups then getting him to sleep. Just as this routine ends its starts again. It's compelling, all-consuming, exhausting and yet marvellous...

Somehow in there we find the time to feed ourselves and enjoy little moments: congratulating each other on good work and slight successes (like dressing a squirmer!), lying on the couch listening to Goldfrappe's 'Seventh tree' as a sunbeam falls over the face of my little boy and his mouth curls in a mysterious Mona-smile, tucking him into a crisp-sheeted cot and hearing him sigh as his eyes rolls back and sleep starts, or watching his eyes take in the huge morning sky as I take him outside for air-time.
The house moves to new rythms, breathes in smells of baby and glows with nightlights as we grope about learning. My cats twine around my feet, delighted with the smell of rich breast-milk that clings to me.

A house of love.