spacespacespace Quite possibly against her better judgment (which is questionable, given her choice of husband), Rachel left Little One with Daddy for the morning. A more extended babysitting gig than last time, this time so Mummy could hit the hairdresser for the pre-New Zealand touch up (her hair looks lovely, of course).
We ended up at FUEL coffee, meeting my photography junkie friend Angelo - who was about to hop on a flight back to San Francisco. Handy location, as FUEL is about three floors up from the Airport train station.
Everything went well - Angelo took loads of photos of George (with a camera I would kill for) and even had a cuddle. The little punk (George, not Angelo) had the nerve to give Angelo nothing but smiles and giggles. False advertising, little one...
He snoozed and snoozed a bit more, and then I took him home. Where he snoozed. And snoozed a bit more. And at 1pm I had to physically wake him for his lunchtime feed of pureed steak and mashed potatoes. Ha, just kidding. He got milk.
Despite his voice sounding a tad hoarse (hey - it's not like he has any actual words for us), the new sleeping routine seems to be working well. I still hate watching / hearing him cry, but he really is getting to sleep in a much more predictable way. It's 11pm as I'm typing this, and he just went down again - four hours since his last feed, and with minimal fuss. All good.
Anyway, here are a few photos from Chez Narly today. Oh yes - that is indeed baby vomit on my t-shirt. I didn't spot it until Rachel pointed it out after I had taken the photo. Little sod puked all the way down Wellington, down to Picton and possibly down to Kaikoura.
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...and just in case you didn't already know, Ben still has no shame whatsoever: