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Festival Baby

I took Henry to a festival the first weekend of August. It was a long-ish drive, two and a half hours, and he slept the whole way there.

It was a child-friendly music festival, and there were a lot of kids running around hyper on ice cream and sunshine. It was an absolutely brilliant day, despite the fact that I had forgotten Henry’s ear defenders purchased especially for the occasion. I didn’t really mind being confined to the child section; there was a Rastafarian playing acoustic guitar and singing reggae versions of popular nursery rhymes. What more could you want?

I think Henry enjoyed most of it. He seemed really fascinated by the musical instruments and water pit. He’s always really interested in other children as well.

Then it was time to sleep in a tent, and after a day of excitement and not one single nap, he was always going to struggle. I sat up until four in the morning cradling him so he could sleep because every time I put him down he woke up and screamed. It was dreadfully cold too, and even though I had brought with me a mountain of blankets, I had to concentrate to stop shivering. No one complained about the racket Henry was making and I’m sure everyone else understood the situation. One kind man accompanied by his wife and kids helped me carry the pushchair through the maze of tents saying “We’ve all been there”. But I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the other families in quiet camping having to listen to Henry screaming. So at four I decided that I really needed some sleep and packed up and drove home.

I was in bed by seven.

I really want to go next year. I will plan better though. I will bring Henry’s dad with me (he was working this time) and he will be a year older and hopefully toddling around, if not running, by then. I will be better prepared with food and blankets and I will relax a bit more.

I want to thank the friends I went with though. They were ever so helpful. When Henry gets his grump on though, nothing can stop it. The stubborn little cutie pie.

Next year will be awesome. Eight months old and already a little festival goer.

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Becoming a Rhymetime Veteran

Alright, so it is only the second week I’ve taken Henry to rhymetime, but he loved it and I now know all the songs as it was exactly the same as last week. By the¬†time Henry can talk, nursery rhymes will be so¬†engrained in his little mind that I’m not sure if ‘dada’ will be his first word. He may well be uttering the verses of ‘row, row, row the boat’ before long.

He was all exhausted afterwards again. I think it is a good way to tire him out, so I can have a little walk around town and grab a drink and a hot snack. He’s asleep again now, after only a little moan in the evening. He had a few visitors this afternoon, and has gotten to the stage where he doesn’t like being held by anyone but his mum and dad. I hope people don’t get offended, but I’m sure every baby goes through it, when they start to become more aware of their surroundings and who is holding them. He’s getting to be a clever baby, and it is nice to know how much I mean to him.

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Rhymetime

My first baby meeting I’ve mustered up the courage to go to. It is hard when you don’t have many ‘mum friends’ and walking into a room full of strangers is quite daunting when you don’t have a suit and a PowerPoint presentation to hide behind. Being a mum is a completely different world for me.

I have never seen so many babies in my life. Even at the hospital in the maternity ward.

I sat Henry on my lap and jigged him about a little as the mass of mums (and a dad, who I have such admiration for) chorused nursery rhymes. Twinkle twinkle little star, hickory dickory dock and the wheels on the bus have stayed firm favourites since my childhood it would seem.

Henry loved it. He stared at all the other babies and children, and the colourful carpet. He drooled on his best romper suit I’d dressed him in for the occasion and then when it was all over half an hour later, fell asleep.

A very succesful morning I think, as I am now enjoying a rather lovely chocolate tiffin in Costa as a ‘well done’ to myself. I am determined to make this a regular thing.