Hostessing with the mostessing

On Sunday we hosted an engagement party for some friends. Oh I do like a hostessing moment, right up until the point when people arrive. The best bit is when everything's laid out and pretty and empty and Mr B has just put the music on. 

The main project: cupcakes. After much interwebs research, made recipe from Crabapple Bakery - apparently a dubious business, but a great cupcake. Iced 'em with chocolate buttercream and lemon/sour cream. Only sent Mr B on three trips for forgotten ingredients.

We also had chicken wings, wedges and yummy dips from Sultan's Table. Decorations courtesy of my supply of washi paper masking tape.

Juno had cuddles with lots of Aunties and good sleeps despite the racket, and the lovely couple hung around into the evening... 

Success.

Skinny Minnie

Went to see the GP last week for The Berry's 4 month jabs. The vaccinations themselves went fine - a good yell but soon forgotten. More of an issue - the dreaded growth chart. I had thought that The Berry was looking a little on the lean side, compared to some of the other babes at Mother's Group. She also feeds very quickly. At first when I mentioned it, the doctor said, "well you're both tall and skinny, I'd expect your baby to be the same". Very good. But then The Chart appeared. With its percentiles. The Berry has maintained her percentile line for her height, but not her weight - she's dropped from the 50th to the 15th. This seemed to change the tune the GP was singing pretty quick. Does she take a bottle? How are her poos? Can I top her up with expressed breast milk, and then formula? 


But she was happy - sleeping well and a few times even sleeping from 10pm-6am. And the GP said (or I heard), "Some babies are just very good natured. She could be hungry all the time and just not be complaining, because she's used to it."


I'm starving my baby and she's just gotten used to it.


Now I know this is an overreaction. But since then, it *does* seem like she's hungrier. A few times, she's refused to go to sleep - although in her very good-natured way, she just lies in her cradle and makes little sighs and coos and simply stays awake until I twig and give her a feed. Sometimes she seems unsettled in the middle of the day. But don't all babies?


I don't want to just introduce formula - I've heard lots of stories about upset tummies, early weaning, constipation, allergies. While I don't have a problem in the slightest with other people formula feeding, for some reason I can't fathom doing it myself. I don't understand this. In practical terms, it would be great - I could let Mr B do a feed. I could have a few glasses of wine. But that voice just keeps saying,


I'm starving my baby
I'm starving my baby


I'm feeling depressed and teary again, things like my weight are getting to me (can't I transfer the fat from my belly to hers), and the days are feeling empty, like a blur. This is not good.

Two from two

Two successful luncheons - a Masterchef-inspired terrine (was delicious but didn't photograph that well), and a yummy roast ducky with soy and mandarin sauce. Charlie watched me cooking. 


"What's that?"


"Um, duck fat..."


"And what are you putting in there?"


"Um, duck fat..."


"And how did you cook the potatoes?"


"Um..."


Needless to say it was yummy.

Technicolour

As a self-confessed spoilt only child, I often make demands on my poor parents. I'd been harassing them about a sad and droopy bougainvillea that looked ready to shuffle into the compost bin. They seemed determined to keep abusing it. Then I had a bad day involving a melted breast pump, and my dad turned up with the sorry specimen. A new pot, plenty of sunshine, and it's laden with these heavy technicolour pompoms. We often pop out onto the balcony just to gaze at it.

Ooh ooh ooh!

The Berry has breastfeeding sorted out (don't ask us about the bottle, that can be another story). While it feels like just a moment ago we were trying to perfect our latch and suck, let alone the logistics of under-muslin public feeds, she now has the most adorable routine, especially in the morning when she's hungry and seems to have just remembered the world exists... Her little feet kick, her eyes light up, her little mouth makes fishy-gulps and her head bobs as she lunges towards breakfast. Then her fingers grasp, her eyes close...


It's singleminded contentment.

A special visit

We flew to Melbourne on the weekend to visit The Berry's family on Mr B's side, her "Duffy" and "Pop". And extra-specially, her "Nuffy" - that's great-grandmother to you. The Berry gets her middle name from Nuff, she is so loved by her grandsons and I felt very proud to be able to share this moment. Nuff has her good and bad days (don't we all?), but was sharp as could be when we visited, and declared The Berry "absolutely gorgeous". Agreed.

Wet but wonderful

The rain, the rain... It shows how engaged I am with the outside world that it didn't seem crazy to walk up to Redfern with The Berry, The Boutz and Mr B. It was wet. But wonderful. Took The Berry in her Hug-a-bub sling and she slept the whole time as we ate brekkie at a tiny chilly outside table, with the dog huddling under our knees, doing a very good job of looking pathetic:

I had gingerbread hotcakes with pear, they were yummy, but could have been a bit lighter? I know gingerbread's supposed to be kinda fudgy, but... I'm taking inspiration to maybe try something similar but, well, better.

They came from Baffi & Mo, here's a pic taken in sunnier weather, nicked from Pia Jane Bijkerk (proof that the cafe is super-cool)