Mila is already three months old and all's been very quiet on the blogging front. I am not sure whether I'm capable of stringing cohesive thoughts - let alone sentences - together, but here goes.
It's been a busy few months. Between the endless cycle of feeding, winding, changing and sleeping, we've had a mini family holiday to Napier when Mila was five weeks old and a three-week stint in Auckland from the seven week mark (which included Mila's first night with a babysitter while we went to Flight of the Conchords and her first full night's sleep). And work continues on the house - we took the plunge and pressed "Go" on the bathroom renovation so we're currently ensconced at Matt's mum's house while our plumbing is out of action.
Mila is changing fast and we're totally absorbed in the minutiae of her development - the way she throws her arms above her head in a victory stretch after a feed (to which Matt always says: "Winning!"), wiggles her head from side to side, goo-goos and gaa-gaas, kicks her legs, strains forward to sit up, smacks the elephant around that dangles from her baby gym, thumps on my chest as if demanding "More milk! More!", and gnaws on our fingers and growls like a little lioness.
A lot seems to revolve around her bodily functions - Vomitron and ThunderPants are hard-earned nick-names, recently joined by MachineGunBum.
Our little midget took Auckland by storm, charming everyone she met. When we see friends and family they don't even make eye contact with us anymore - all eyes are on Mila. I've explained to Matt that Dodge World has been absorbed into a whole new universe, dominated by the immense gravitational pull of Planet Mila. He's trying to fight it, but there's no denying the force is strong in him.
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