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.
...and just in case you didn't already know, Ben still has no shame whatsoever: