So much has happened in the last two months, to us as a family, and in terms of Fig’s growth and development, that it’s hard to keep track. The very thought that this little person, who is at the centre of every single one of my days, has only been with us for six months clashes head on with oh my god, he’s six months old already! So I’ll crack open the bubbly, and he’ll crack open the milk, and we’ll cheers to his first half year.
Aside from moving house, what has Fig been up to in the last two months? He’s been on lots of walks.
He prefers the Babybjorn to his pram, and the carrier means we can go more off-road and go at a faster pace, so it suits us all fine. As the weather’s warmed up, the layers of fluff he used to have to wear to go out in has lessened too, so just going for a quick walk is almost actually quite quick and easy now.
His ability to hold things, lift things and play with toys is progressing all the time, and everything – and I mean everything, including mummy’s face and his whole playmat – go in his moof. Plus side, his hand-eye coordination is improving. Downside, I live my life in a perpetually damp state.
He can hold himself up when he’s on his tummy for ages, and there are the early signs of bringing his knees up in an attempt to start crawling. He just can’t wait to be mobile and independent. Mummy and daddy are less excited about the prospect…
Another favourite pastime is eating his own feet, if bare, or socks, if not. And having pulled off and chewed his socks, of course, his feet are then bare even if they weren’t in the first place. Double win.
In terms of baby fashion, there have been two major moments worth documenting. The first was my best friend’s wedding (a beautiful day with a beautiful bride in beautiful Liverpool) which was Fig’s most sartorially elegant day to date.
He wore a tiny linen shirt and a pair of little tweed trousers with braces. Ludicrously expensive for one day’s wear, but he looked so adorable we nearly exploded, so I guess it was worth it. The other top couture moment came when we happened upon a cap like daddy’s in miniature.
He looks like a cross between Chairman Mao and a train driver, and there aren’t many babies can say that. I assume there aren’t, anyway. Excuse the moving-in clutter in the background.
The main news for Fig this month is, of course, that he has started weaning, but there will be updates on how that’s going in posts devoted specifically to the mess he makes, so I’ll forego the pictures of him licking banana off his bib and wiping carrot on his head for the time being. We have all summer for that…
So after a month of crazy turmoil, the new house is starting to take shape, and we’re starting to settle. In terms of period homes, we’ve moved from Tudor to Victorian, and to be honest, it feels like as much upheaval as though we had actually done that time shift. Weirdly, Fig, from the very first full day and night we spent in the new place, has gone to bed at seven, been asleep before half past and stayed asleep until his middle of the night feed, allowing Saul and I to cook proper meals and eat them together.
He never did that in the old house. There, we were lucky if he went to sleep at ten and stayed asleep for half an hour. It does mean he’s waking up earlier in the morning (half five yesterday – joy!), but I’m loving having evenings again.
And that’s it. A new house, and licking solid food – Fig’s fifth and sixth months in a nutshell. Gosh, he’s exhausting (really, he’s properly bonkers, jumping and kicking for literally hours at a time), but worth every yawn because he laughs so much. Real belly laughs. Shaking-his-shoulders-and-screwing-up-his-eyes laughs. Chortling. Guffawing. Hysterical laughs.
When I think about the tiny, creased up, golden little animal we brought home from the hospital last November, I can barely equate him with the Fig who greets me with a grin every morning from his next-to-me cot, and who stares quizzically at me whenever we do something new or go somewhere he’s never been before. What astonishing things babies are.
Here’s to your half year birthday, my gorgeous little Fig.