When Oliver was born he looked like a string of sausages. He was a bit pale and shocked and as they plonked him onto Hayley's tummy his arms and legs reminded me of nothing more than Walls' best bangers before they go into the pan. We can still be heard to call him "sausage" or "sausage sandwich" every now and then.
Well, recently our little sausage has started to roll over onto his front at night. The trouble is he doesn't know how to get onto his back. As a result we sometimes go into his room at night and turn him over. Otherwise he can wriggle until he sits up and cries. More often he will crawl up to the top of his cot and just fall asleep there: stuck! The health visitor reckons he'll work out how to get onto his back in a few weeks. Until then there'll be a few more nocturnal trips in to see him and help him out.
Today he was weighed at the clinic: 24 pounds 7 ounces; that's in the 91st percentile for his age. But I don't think he looks at all fat. Just like better quality sausage.
Testing Diatomaceous Earth on Martians
1 year ago
Posts
