Coming Home

Yesterday Juliet and I finally came home, almost seven weeks after the birth of our son, Max. The first week Juliet and Max spent in hospital, a period about which the least said the better, except to say that it was utterly horrible. When they were finally released, we went to stay with her parents, who only live a few minutes away from us, so that we could have some extra support. I must say, they’ve been brilliant, not only by offering the kind of extended family support that was once the norm but also by hiring a night nanny often enough for us not to get over-tired.

Having said all that, it’s still lovely to be home. I was getting rather fed up with living out of a suitcase and not having easy access to all my clothes and stuff. Not to mention the fact that sleeping in my own bed is, quite frankly, wonderful. Juliet is somewhat less happy, it has to be said. She’s extremely sensitive to sound and smell and our neighbours have a pond with a constant feed of fresh water running into it, the noise of which keeps her awake at night. It’s not a particularly loud or unpleasant sound, at least to my ears, but she finds it extremely difficult to deal with and, alas, keeping the window closed isn’t an option as she also needs plenty of fresh air. Perhaps we might try leaving the bedroom door open and opening a window elsewhere. Any other suggestions would be received with gratitude.

As an aside, because it was our first wedding anniversary yesterday, my in-laws looked after Max for the afternoon and evening and had the night nanny, Tracy, look after him overnight at their place, and he went for eleven hours between feeds quite happily. That’s very impressive for a seven-week-old baby, and way more than we can get him to do. OK, so she’s a sleep expert, apparently, but still – WOW!

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