Sleepy...

It's hard work being a baby.

One week old today!

Baby Bea has reached her first major milestone. I am one week old today! And what a week it has been, I have learnt how to manage most of my major functions; breathing, eating, digesting, excreting (sometimes used to powerful effect) crying and moving. I have found things I like; breast feeding from Mummy, sleeping on Daddy, the NHS, equal rights for women and clothes that fit me, and I have found things I don't......mainly being woken up in the middle of the night to be force-fed formula milk.

Now I have had milestones before, but previously they were generally counting down to my birth (2 months to go, 1 month to go etc), but now they are counting away from it. One week ago today, my parents had what I can confidently say was their biggest shock of their lives as I popped into existence two weeks early and definitely more quickly than expected. It has been a good week so far; visitors, presents, bunches of flowers being delivered to the door, regular supplies of delicious cake (see my birthday cakes in the photo) sleeping for 18 hours a day, constant silver service meeting my every need. I don't want to worry my parents, but having set the bar this high I expect that the next 18 years to be of an equally high standard. If not, there will be hell to pay....

Postscript - Daddy received an email today from someone called Auntie Amanda. Now I am not too sure who this is and due to my lack of object permanence I cannot even conceive of something existing if it I can't see actually see it or touch it, but somehow she knew that it was my one week birthday today! I asked Daddy how this could be and he helpfully explained that my Auntie Amanda is like one of those complex Victorian adding machines, a thousand cogs, chains and wheels spinning in intricate motions, tracking the birthdays, anniversaries and other important information of almost everyone she knows. She sounds amazing, I get to meet her tomorrow...exciting!!

Revenge is sweet

And so the wheel has turned......and how .

After Daddy's victory in 'Wake a sleeping baby' the other night, I have been plotting my reprisal with intricate care and attention. I decided that it would not be enough to just win, I must win with glory!

My chosen event was 'Poo with the nappy off', a contest at which I knew he was already weak, having beaten him at it only the previous day. I decided also to pick my timing to maximise my advantage, that being 4:30am, when he would be bleary eyed and in which his coordination and skill could well be fundamentally undermined. I also decided to up the ante and throw in a special move that I have been planning for a while now, the 'Unexpected pee'.

And so it transpired, my execution was perfect and Daddy had made the fatal error of changing me away from my mat and the normal baby wipes and cotton wool that he generally arms himself with. "How", he exclaimed as he looked at the mess that had unfolded in front of him, " can a baby that wears a nappy for 99.9% of the day, possibly excrete so much in the 2 minutes it takes to change her?"

Glory goes to Baby Bea. I have stamped my authority over all future games. Only a fool would challenge me now!!

Visitors!

Over the last couple of days, even though Mummy and Daddy are trying to keep things quite quiet, I have had lots and lots of lovely visitors, all coming to pay homage to my birth and bring me gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.

It was great to meet my Auntie Alice and Uncle Toby, who brought me gifts galore, including my first dolly - Polly Pullen. I also met Onno and Lilly, who are very kindly producing a half-Italian boy baby for me to play with in a month's time and Ulrika Herson with her two boys, one of which gave me my first compliment...how I blushed. Grandma and Poppa also came again, plus an endless stream of midwives, health visitors and supermarket delivery men.

In the photos above, I have pictures of me with my cousin Charlotte, who I like because she clearly shares my passion for the colour pink and seems equally comfortable in the presence of paparazzi.

My name

Baby Bea is very proud of her name, Beatrice Rose; she likes how it sounds elegant, but also sweet, she likes how the names go together and how they make her think of some Victorian garden, replete with lily covered ponds, hidden glades and crumbling statues.

The thing Baby Bea likes most is why she was given her names in the first place. Although there was much discussion of her name prior to her grand entrance (and even wild rumours that this may have continued for at least another two days afterwards) apparently Mummy had fallen in love with the name Beatrice when she was 15 years old after studying Dante's 'Divine Comedy' in school.

In this famous Italian epic poem, Dante, who had found himself in the middle of his life lost in a dark wood, travels first down through the nine circles of hell, then through purgatory and finally into paradise. While in the first two parts he is accompanied by his guide, the poet Virgil, he is led into paradise by Beatrice, the representation of beatific love, who was inspired by a real life Beatrice, who Dante was deeply in love with and who served as the primary inspiration for his work.

I am pleased that my parents haven't set unrealistic expectations for me then!

The other thing that is worth knowing about my first name is that it is pronounced slightly differently in Italian than in English. The best way to describe how my name works in Italian is to imagine the unlikely scenario that you are suggesting to a friend of yours, Chay, that his suggested route in life as a human is not working out that well and that he should ideally think about being something more leaf and trunk-orientated. In this situation you would say to him "Be a tree, Chay"....and in doing so you would be giving a pretty good go at pronouncing my name. In fact, this works for all names that end with an 'ice', so that to pronounce my Auntie Alice's name, you would have to imagine that Chay is actually this chap's surname and his first name is Ali.....he would therefore be Ali Chay.

And you might well ask why my second name is Rose, well, apart from being a beautiful name, it is also the name of my maternal great-grandmother, a woman who had six children. So no ridiculous expectations there either...

A new game

Daddy and me have a lot of fun. We like spend time together, listen to music and chat, but most of all, we like to play games. The most recent games that we have invented include 'Poo when the nappy is off', 'Milky vomit' and 'No sleeves'.....which is where Daddy tries to put a vest or baby grow on me and I try and wave my arms around or pull them to me body to stop him pulling them through the sleeves. Generally I win this game.

Our newest game is 'Wake a sleeping baby' otherwise known as 'Mission Bloody Impossible' by Daddy. This game only played at night generally between the hours of 1am to 4am when Daddy has gotten up from his own sleep to feed me. The game is simple, Daddy will try and wake me up and I will resolutely slumber through his escalating efforts to try to rouse me. First he tries all the obvious tactics, talking to me, rubbing my back or feet and changing my positions. Then he moves onto nappy changes, tummy tickles and dancing together. These are all generally very easy to resist. It is only when, normally after about 45 mins, he moves onto the nuclear option - the wet flannel on the face, that we move into the end game, the crucial test of wills between father and daughter. It is here that true character comes to the fore, him, desperate to get back to sleep, me, equally determined not to leave it.

Tonight Daddy won, he executed a perfect wet flannel / tummy tickle / blow on the neck combination. But there will be other nights.....I will get my revenge.

Karate!

Baby Bea isn't just interested in the arts, fashion and social justice. Indeed not, for a modern baby today has to be a well rounded and complete individual, not just a feeding, sleeping, pooing machine.

As such, Baby Bea is currently studying for her Black Belt (3rd Dan) in Shotokan Karate. Here you can see me pull off the complex butterfly kick / punch maneuver.

Italian Songs #1

Baby Bea likes music and she particularly likes being sung to. Lucky then that in Mummy and Nonna (though thankfully not Daddy) I have two people who are more than happy to accede to my every whim on this account. And pretty much every other account actually.

The best thing is that they sing me songs which have been passed down the old fashioned way, from mother to daughter for generations.

This is one of my favorite songs, it is called 'Sul Cappello Che Noi Portiamo', which means 'The Hat That We Wear' and strangely for a song that you sing a baby was actually a marching song by the Alpini, the Italian mountain soliders, celebrating the black feather that they wore in their caps!

Sul cappello, sul cappello che noi portiamo,
c’è una lunga, c’è una lunga penna nera,
che a noi serve, che a noi serve da bandiera,
su pei monti, su pei monti a guerreggiar. Oi la la.
Evviva evviva il reggimento,
evviva evviva il corpo degli Alpin.

On the hat, on the hat that we wear

there's a long, there's a long black feather

that we use, that we use as our flag

on the mountains, on the mountains on which we fight. Oi la la

Hurrah to the regiment

Hurrah to the corps of the Alpini

The big weigh in

As you know, the subject of my weight is capturing a significant amount of airtime at the moment. Now I'm not a baby to get overly self conscious about these things, but honestly, couldn't Mummy and Daddy find a more dignified way to weigh me? Kitchen scales? What am I, a bag of sugar?

The good news is that I came in just under 2.4 kg so it seems all those early morning feeds are actually paying off.

Confetti

My Nonna brought confetti (Italian sugared almonds) to the hospital to share with all the doctors and midwives to thank them and celebrate the birth of me! Nonna tells me that it's an Italian tradition.....but like all Italian traditions one with very strict rules. Here it is all about the colours. Pink for a baby girl, light blue for a baby boy, white for the first communion and a wedding, red for graduations, blue when you complete a doctorate, green for an engagement etc

Meeting Grandma #2

Finally I get to meet some of my Italian family! Here is me with my Nonna when she came to see me at the hospital. Nonna makes us all laugh, she is always talking, singing songs and making jokes. I like my Nonna.

Location:W End Ln,Camden Town,United Kingdom

Awablewwahglaaablewaa......

When I've had my complete fill of milk, I get very woozy and soporific. Daddy calls this my 'milk drunk' face.

Silly Daddy

Daddy's funny. For some reason he was quite tired at the hospital. I can't imagine why.

A bit of a scare

As most of you know now, the two things that Baby Bea loves most are being the centre of attention and giving Mummy and Daddy exciting new experiences. She also realised that in giving them the thrills of an emergency home birth, she was denying them the pleasures of an extended hospital stay. Well, never it be said that I am not a generous baby, so when Mummy and Daddy had to take me for a routine Pediatric visit to the Royal Free yesterday morning I espied my chance to turn it in something a little more memorable for them.

Now, those that have met me in the the flesh might describe me as rather a svelte baby, slimline even. I'm not one of those bonny, bouncing babes...my thing is more in the petite end of the newborn scale. I know I'll grow in time, my Mummy will definitely see to that, but at the moment I tend to vaguely inhabit my clothes, rather than actually wear them. No one has been thoughtful enough to pass me the latest copy of Vogue yet, but I am hoping that baggy is in still in fashion otherwise I might be considered rather déclassé in the fashionable neonate circles.

Anyway, when we saw the Pediatrician, it appeared, to my parents obvious concern that my weight was a little bit under where it should have been at this point. Then they did some tests, which took a while to do, then we waited for the results, which took even longer. Now, I loved all this hanging around, I got to spend time with my parents and Grandma and Grandpa, who had also joined us, but for some reason Mummy wasn't feeling it, especially when they came back saying that my sodium levels were rather higher than they should be and that we would have to be admitted so they could observe me. Come on Mummy, cheer up, a night in hospital and Baby Bea being the centre of attention again what could be better?

That night it appears that the doctors and Mummy had decided that I needed to go on a bit of a high cal diet. Every three hours a rather stern midwife would knock on the door and Mummy would start an intensive feed, whether I liked it or not. Apparently as an Italian Mummy this behavior is actually quite par for the course! In fact, Daddy told me the next day that it was nothing compared to going three rounds with my Nonna's famous seven course Sunday lunches. Apparently, until you are so full you are feeling your eyeballs bulge and are actually sweating prosciutto crudo you are not allowed from the table.

As you can imagine, it was a pretty frenetic and exhausting night for Mummy...and actually for Daddy as well, who had to pick up my Nonna from the airport at midnight in his recently rescued car. But by the next morning when I was reweighed it seemed as all the hard work had paid off as I had gained some weight. In fact further tests showed that my sodium levels were going down and my blood sugar levels were excellent. Well done Mummy!

In the end, when we were finally discharged at 6pm that evening,a visit to the hospital which was expected to last about half an hour ended up lasting over 32 hours. I am Baby Bea and I don't do things by halves!

A delivery (or rather, removal) story

In all the excitement of the last couple of days, I forgot to tell you an extra detail from my delivery story, not one that is central to my birth, but something that got Daddy as red faced as I get when I'm hungry or need changing.

When he got home after his mad dash across London and on seeing the assembled flashing ambulances outside the flat, Daddy desperately searched for somewhere to park his car, but this being West Hampstead spaces were rarer than a snowball in summer, so he left the car in a disabled spot before he rushed up the stairs. He figured that we would all be rapidly heading to the Royal Free for the birth, so it couldn't possibly be much of a risk.

To be fair to him, when the midwife announced that we would actually be delivering yours truly at the flat he did think that maybe he should move the car to a safer spot, but then on seeing Mummy's white knuckles grip the bedsheets and on hearing her first foundation-shattering moan, he decided that the disabled denizens of West Hampstead would have to find somewhere else to park as he valued his life a little too much.

It actually turned out not to be a problem though, as the helpful people at Camden Council kindly moved Daddy's car to a pound in Kentish Town - a very secure spot where he could spend a significant part of the first day of his daughter's life getting it released. It is our only car you see and if something should happen to me in the night (not that I would ever let that happen!) then he needed it to take me to the hospital.

I learnt some new words that afternoon, especially when Daddy found out how much it would cost to release the car. I hope to use them later on in my life with Daddy, maybe in polite company or at a solemn religious occasion.

Royal sucession

Now that Baby Bea had entered the world she wishes that the royal couple would hurry up and produce a male heir. She does so dearly want to be a Queen Bea one day!

Meeting Grandpa Lorenzo!

The next morning I met my English Grandpa for the first time. He also arrived from this 'Clopton' place (note to self - must investigate) and he was a lot of fun! He has these two massive things above his eyes....not sure what they are for as I don't have any. They were fun to look at though.

How to get the best out of your Daddy

One tip for other newborns out there....at this stage Daddies are pretty useless things to have around, they don't produce milk and they have a pretty undefined role in the birth, but I have discovered that they make excellent portable beds. I think Daddy was pretty tired too at this point.

My first change

One advantage of being born at home is the fact that Mummy and Daddy were able to look after me in a calm and gentle environment. Here is my first change....it wasn't so bad!

Meeting Grandma #1

I am a lucky baby, I have two lovely grandmas, one of the Australian variety called Grandma and one of the Italian variety called Nonna. My Nonna is flying over to see me soon, but Grandma was able to come on my first day. She took a train from somewhere called 'Clopton', I don't know where this is, but the way everyone talked about it, it sounds important, and arrived in the afternoon. Some people say I look like her, I hope so, she's very pretty!



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My arrival

Like every aspiring starlet know, it's all about the entrance......first impressions count and if you're serious about these things, as I am, you need to start with the biggest introduction of them all, your passage into the world. So I decided quite early on in the long months I spent in Mummy's tummy to give my parents a delivery they would never forget. Really, it's their own fault for leaving me to my own devices for so long in there.

I've got such an active Mummy, always running marathons and working crazy hours, so I knew that she would be bored kicking around the flat once she started her maternity leave. It really wouldn't be kind to make her spend her days relaxing and having long walks. Also she'd bought me such a lot of clothes and made my room look so nice, that it was just too tempting having them all around and not make an early appearance. So I decided that when I was nicely cooked, about 2 weeks prior to my actual date, to make my grand appearance, right on the day that my Mummy was due to finish work, so she could segue neatly from the demands of a high powered job to full time motherhood, without the need for any of that tedious waiting around. I am a very thoughtful daughter.

I also thought that as a Delivery Manager, my Mummy would have no truck with these long, interminable births, she's known for bringing it in 'on time, in full', so I thought I'd better make my appearance pretty sharpish! The only problem was, what with having no clocks in the womb and a pretty hazy notion of the passage of time, I may have been a little overzealous in my haste.

Anyway as, Daddy tells me, everything was pretty normal the night before my big beginning, there were a few signs that trouble was brewing, sure, but he and Mummy went out for a dinner together and Mummy even managed to go to an interview for a Science degree course she wants to do (told you she's an active Mummy!). They made plans for the next day, confident that I would not be making an appearance for quite some while. They would try to get an early night and Daddy would do a couple hours at work in the morning to tidy things up, before coming home mid-morning to spend the day looking after Mummy and take her to hospital in a calm and ordered fashion when required.

The next morning, Mummy had been feeling the contractions come on harder for a while and had had a pretty restless night, but was feeling well enough to usher Daddy out the door and settle down for a bath. She'd been told not to bother the hospital until the contractions were long and too painful to speak, but was sure she was nowhere near there yet.....no sissy, my Mummy. I like baths, and decided to give Mummy a break for a while from my downward progress, but once she was out, I decided that the faffing about had to stop and launched myself on a veritable sprint to the finish line. This was probably a mistake as Mummy was less prepared than I thought for the actual onset of labour, indeed the shocking realisation that things could actually be happening meant that she called Daddy and ordered him home - initiating a negotiation of the M25 and A41 at speeds which would put Aryton Senna to shame.

Mummy then decided to call the hospital to find out what she should do and whilst she on the phone, in order to ensure the clarification of any remaining doubt, I thoughtfully decided to break Mummy's waters. Which was, I believe, as much of a shock to her as the person she was on the call to. This I felt was a masterstroke and immediately brought on the calling of multiple ambulances, whose flashing lights and lovely sirens soon graced the entrance of our apartment block. I do like a big fuss!

A mere 35 mins after being called, (impressive if you know the journey) Daddy arrived home, to find 3 ambulances outside and at least 8 paramedics inside the flat. The way he tells it, once he'd sprinted up the block's four flights of stairs, there were two at the front door and he had to push past another three of them lining the corridor to get to the bedroom. In here, Mummy had assumed the typical 'giving birth' posture, on all fours, sucking in gas and air like there was no tomorrow and was surrounded my yet more paramedics and a midwife who had just arrived and took charge of the situation. She inspected Mummy to work out what to do next, the general assumption I believe, was that hospital was the next step, but Baby Bea doesn't do things by half and the midwife pronounced that I was too far along and we'd have to do the birth right there in the flat. Result!!

Cue then a frantic search by Daddy and the assembled flock of paramedics for an assorted group of items to turn our bedroom into a temporary labour ward. Bin bags, towels, baby clothes, a torch from Daddy's toolbox, fruit juice for Mummy's energy, more towels, bowls and an electric heater were all assembled in mere minutes. Daddy says it was like a treasure hunt, only much less fun.

Mummy meanwhile was concentrating on the giving me the best entrance a girl can get and for the next hour pushed against the contractions with all her might. I'll save you all the gory details, but suffice to say, her pilates classes paid off handsomely as at 10:28 I popped out to a great fanfare and a high level of excitement.

The next bit was great as I got to meet my Mummy and Daddy for the first time. The both seem absolutely delightful, but I find it a bit strange why Mummy looked so sweaty and wide eyed and Daddy so dazed and confused. I hope they don't stay like that for too long and are a bit more normal looking in the future. They both looked happy though, bless, and it was really nice to hear their voices and get my first kisses.

The next bit was a bit dull, all form filling and cups of tea, but I was weighed, which was fun, and given an injection, which was less so. I got to try out my lungs for the first time and had my first feed, so I guess it was actually pretty good in the round.

Suddenly, just like that, everyone left and I got to spend my first time with my new parents. It was pretty good but they seemed a little nervous around me. To be honest they appeared to not know what they were doing, I thought that they had been studying hard for this moment, had read all kinds of books and attended a lengthy NCT course, but apparently neither are particularly good students as they were all fingers and thumbs when they changed me and put on my nappy for the first time. They try hard though, so maybe they'll pick it up in time with a little instruction from yours truly.

Anyway that was the story of my birth, I think you'll agree it was, when all was said and done, a pretty good entrance after all!