11 months: this too shall pass.

11 months!

Hugo's eleventh month was tough. It began with a 27 hour flight back to Australia and ended with a fever and a cough. In between, we had one very long and very jet-lagged week and Hugo's first bout of sickness(es) with a gastro, a conjunctivitis and a viral fever, one after the other. We had one decent night and the rest was a mess of broken sleep and crying.

As I get to the end of this month, I feel that I have been tested. I assume I passed since I'm still doing it but a little chunk of enthusiasm is missing right now. I think we are at a funny point where 11 months down the track, we feel like we have come a long way and we are this close to a whole year, a milestone I am attaching a lot of importance to and I'm not completely sure why.

On the other hand, the slow grind of these last few weeks have scared me about the future. How will I cope with more children? Where will I find the reserves for even harder times? How long does all this stuff - the broken sleep, the crying, the dirty nappies, the hours of breastfeeding - last? How are we going to make it there?

I don't really ask myself these things in easier times but once in a while, it hits me and it scares me a little. I tell myself that I'll cope because we do, don't we? But I guess I'm not completely sure how.

Thankfully, in between the jet-lag and the disease, some nice things did happen. We visited Mick and Jess and their brand new baby, the beautiful little Archie. He was only 10 days old when we saw him and I swear I cannot remember Hugo ever being that tiny. I can rationalise it because they had similar birth proportions but unlike riding a bike, how to hold a newborn is forgotten quicker than one might think.

It was wonderful though to see both parents looking so calm and glowing with happiness, bundled in the warm fuzzy cocoon of those first weeks.

The following week-end, we were also able to spend a couple of days in the Blue Mountains with our friends Marcin and Rose who were visiting from Poland. We met their one year old twins, Maja and Janek who towered over little Hugo. They both looked long and statuesque compared to our little ball of a boy but that certainly didn't worry Hugo who was as smiley and engaged as ever. There was a little dog there too, Basil, that Hugo found endlessly fascinating. Old, deaf and blind, Basil was gentle and placid, putting up with too many little hands pulling at his tail and ears.

It's on our way back from the mountains that Hugo started vomiting which quickly spiralled into one of our most difficult weeks yet. Thankfully, as I type this, it feels like things might be getting better... fingers crossed.

Also, in brief:

• We continue to enjoy going to the beach at least a couple times a week.
• Hugo has taken a few steps here and there, on average around 4 and once, a record-breaking 7 before stumbling into my arms.
• Hugo continues to meet new friends: Paula's son Otis (9 months younger), Ava (Mick & Jess' friends, Bec and Lloyd's daughter) who is just 2 days younger than him and Mick & Jess' Archie (10 months younger).
• We celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary with a nice lunch at a cafe in Newcastle and sushi on the beach. Time flies when you're exhausted (and having fun)!

Anniversary lunch at Scottie's

Meeting Otis

Meeting the girls

Ava has made quite an impression

Meeting Archie

Playing with Maja and Marcin

Maja, Hugo and Janek

Marcin & Maja, Hugo, Rose & Janek

Sick boy

but still smiling :)

10 months: my baby, my boy.

10 months!

Babies seem to grow in little regular spurts. Nothing will happen for a while and then suddenly, out of nowhere, they can do a million new things. Some are so tiny that only their mother (or a very observant father) can pick up on them and others completely transform their world.

At 10 months, Hugo is growing up so quickly. It is exciting and scary in equal parts. It's also a little sad. I know that he'll always be MY baby but he won't be A baby forever... so I'll try to hold on to the feeling a little bit longer.

At 10 months, I know Hugo is still a baby because...

... he can still snuggle so nicely in my arms, curled up like a little ball, his head resting on one of my forearms and his feet on the other.

... he still wakes up a couple times a night, for a feed, a pat or some reassurance. We're tired, maybe even a little sick of it, but I know that one day, I'll miss something about sitting in the dark, his warm body against mine as we both drift off to sleep.

... he is so pure, so innocent. His idea of heaven is to have both his parents at home. He is so easy to please, to surprise. He is not bored with a single thing in the world yet.

... he falls, topples, loses his balances, drops things, misses his mouth, smears cereal through his hair, pokes himself in the eyes... His body isn't completely his own yet. He still needs to tame it, learn its tricks, domesticate it.

... he is so tiny. He can sit under a chair, squeeze between the wall and the couch, stand under our dining table, slide his fingers under a door without pinching them, take his bath in a tiny laundry tub. In fact, he is so tiny that he can sleep on a plane!

But of course, I cannot hold on too tight, and it's with the same sense of awe and wonder that I observe Hugo's blossoming into the little boy he will soon become. Over the last few weeks, I have watched him transform into a devilishly cute and cheeky little creature, who laughs, jokes and plays games.

He has started clapping, dancing, putting food in our mouths and handing us objects. He stands without support and has taken a few accidental steps. He runs away crawling and laughing waiting for us to chase him. He sings "Dadadadadadadada" and "Mamamamamamama" all day long. He eats more but the associated mess and waste are getting less. He laughs when we tickle him, when he is surprised, when we play silly games. He laughs often and easily, and as parents, it's music to our ears.

New shades.

At the airport waiting to board our plane to Nice.

Meeting Hugo's second cousin, Alice sitting in front of our ancestral namesake.

Grandparents left,...

right,...

and center.

Bunny ears.

Last day before heading home.

Night 6 of jet-lag: feeling tired. 

A dark hour.

Selfie taken at what was probably the high point of the night,,,

The downside of trying to be a gentle parent is that there isn't much left to fall back onto when that fails.  Actually, there is but it comes with a hefty dose of guilt attached.

The jet-lag we, and especially Hugo, are experiencing has been testing to put it mildly. In simple terms, we have barely slept since we got home, now almost a week ago.

The nights start well enough but quickly turn sour when Hugo wakes up at 11, 12 or 1am and can not be put back to sleep no matter what we try.

We have patiently sat with him until he seems sleepy again, patted him, fed him, rocked him and ultimately stuck him in his cot, shut the door and waited... waited... waited... all of it to a soundtrack of furious wailing.

Last night, we reached our limit. Hugo woke as soon as we tried to get to bed, was awake despite our best efforts until 2:30am, only to wake up again one short hour later. Chris went in quickly to try and pat him back to sleep. More screaming. I tried to feed him. Slapping, kicking, screaming. Eventually, feeling defeated and deflated, I put him in his cot, left the room and went back to bed. It was almost 5am.

I even closed the doors so we wouldn't hear him as loudly. My plan was very simply to fall asleep while he sorted himself out. Of course, I couldn't fall back asleep, my whole body was tense and my ears were pricked up, but he did sort himself out. Slowly, and eventually, no more noise. He then slept until 7:30am.

I didn't enjoy it but I just didn't have the strength, mental or physical for anything else. As I was listening to his screams in the dark, I knew that had I stayed in the room, I would have screamed back. I was on the edge, I was in what felt like one of our darkest parenting hours.

Please jet-lag, leave us alone.

Here and there, home is everywhere.

On Sunday, fresh off the plane and completely jet-lagged, we went to the beach closest to our flat. We held Hugo in the cold water, played in the sand, splashed around in the shallow rock-pools.

The weather was perfect, the scene was perfect, so I said, "Aren't we lucky to be able to come home to this?" to which Chris replied, "We're not lucky, we chose to live here."

He's right, we not only chose to move to Newcastle, we made the life-changing decision to uproot ourselves, leave friends and family behind, a professional network we had become a part of, and a cultural landscape we enjoyed, in order to move to a city we had never even visited on the off-chance that we might like it.

As it turns out, we more than like, we love it. This is the right place for us at this moment in our lives, as a young family. The pull to come 'Home' to Newcastle did take me a little by surprise as we were packing our bags in Nice last week. I'm not sure I ever felt this way about Sydney even-though we were there for much longer.

Maybe Newcastle feels the most like home these days because it is the only home Hugo has ever known and around him, we have made our nest.