Dear Frankie, Month 3

Dear Frankie,

Friday just gone you became 1/4 year old, by Jove. Yeah cuteness this and yeah beautiful that. Yesterday your mother cooked us a great roast pork and we really could have substituted that meat by popping you in that oven instead, you’re so edible. Crikey me, you overwhelm us. You’re vital stats as they stand:

Height: 61cms
Weight: 5.58kg
Eye colour: Prussian blue
Hair colour: Brown waning to light brown
Smile: Killer

I’m so sorry to have to let you know this but we’re getting a lot of people tell us that you look very much like me. What, that vacant, slightly podgy look? And insult to injury: there’s a chance you’ve inherited my left-handedness. Over the past month you’ve been learning to locate your mouth, so you’re spending less time poking yourself in the eye and more time hitting the jackpot with your left thumb. But maybe you’re cack-ambidextrous-handed though because I just got off the phone to your Ma who said that you were lying on the bed with both thumbs in your mouth.

In fact, you’re becoming more orally fixated as the days roll on. You’re going to have to learn that when we go to kiss you, it’s wrong to try and slip your tongue in my or Mummy’s mouth. In a similar trend and following on from your regular puking on us, the other day as we were getting into the bath you treated me to a golden shower. Now, I love you Frankie, just not in that way.

Since I last wrote, your first Christmas and New Year’s have come and gone. You slept most of the way through xmas day, coincidentally falling asleep soon after I’d fed you a finger-tip of champagne. New Year’s was spent with your cheggers Auntie Em and Uncle Neil down in Brighthelmstone. We’re very excited about Emmah’s news, you’ll (your imminent cousin and you) even be in the same academic year. It’s just a shame their littl’n won’t be in the higher streamed sets with you.

Last weekend we journeyed over to Cheltenham introduce you to your first suitor, the robust and rather gentlemanly Finn Harrison. You also met your Great Grandma who told you that “this would probably be the only time we’d meet”, which was cheery.

Leaving to go to work continues to be the worst part of my day. Especially if you’re lying there post-feed wrapped up on Mummy, is not easy. When you wake up, you’ll normally have a good stretch then roll into a ball just like a woodlouse protecting herself. Your waking day is mainly spent observing and drooling. And the amount you dribble now has become a bit torrential so your chin, neck and vest are constantly damp. You’re not far off being too big for your moses-like basket and there’s already a bag of your cast-off clothes. Sometimes you look more like a little lady now and less of a baby.

Night times after you’ve just been laid down, your beautiful mother and I will lie in bed, biting our fists to stifle the giggles. Your legs are up at right angles so we can see only them above the parapet of your pit whilst you slurp, suck, blurt and fart away. Last night I read you a story about a rabbit, a cat and a dog. I thought you’d appreciate me doing impressions of the sounds they make. I’m sorry that I made you jump so that you starting crying when I barked like the dog. Naughty doggy.
Everyone remarks upon your electric hairdo and then how easygoing, quiet and well-behaved you are. But you are Frankie, you’ve really hit the nail on the head. Surely babies aren’t supposed to be this good.

All the love,

Daddy x

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