Jabs day! And how did we get to jabs day already? Teddy will be two months old at the weekend, which makes sixty-two days and oh, I don’t know, about seven million Jaffa Cakes. And yes, I will be measuring my babies’ ages in Jaffa Cakes until they start sleeping through the night.
I worry sometimes that the insomnia of early babyhood makes me actually incompetent. The immunisation nurse today asked me a couple of questions where my response came just sliiiightly too late to be quite normal. Like this conversation about Teds’ enthusiastic case of thrush:
Nurse: Does he take a dummy?
Me: *blank stare* Oh yes, yes he does.
Nurse: Well I’d throw them away and start again.
Me: *blank stare* Is she asking me to take him off the dummy? Because there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell…
Nurse: We find that babies with dummies do tend to hold on to it for longer.
Me: *blank stare* Oh, she means buy fresh ones. Right, of course. I’ll get some more.
Nurse: Has anyone explained to you the Rotovirus vaccine?
Me: *long pause* I’m afraid I can’t remember either way.
Nurse: Ok. Is this your first baby?
I’m starting to find that question more worrying. I have another month before I’ll hope for a full night’s sleep (this is dangerous, I know, but it’s when Henry started sleeping through). If you hear of some nutter storming the Jaffa Cake factory between now and then, pretend I was with you.
Teddy is a baby of steel, incidentally. I used to come home with Henry, have Calpol on standby and retire to bed for the rest of the afternoon (Operation Batten Down Ye Hatches). Teds licked up the Rotovirus vaccine like I’d never fed him before, cried for four seconds after his injections, and is now feeling jolly as Xmas. Is it the bandana, or am I raising the Incredible Hulk?
He was so freaking happy to be protected from diphtheria that I took photos. Who wouldn’t be?