Note to self: maybe don't store all your valuables in the one spot

They took ALL my earrings. Except the pair I was wearing yesterday. But to add insult to injury, I lost the bead off one of them when we were out, so now I can't even wear them. Meh!

I've also found that they stole the jewellery I inherited from my grandmother, like her beautiful white sapphire ring and a set of Deco jet beads that I loved. These things are irreplaceable, not because of their rarity or cost, but the fact they were Grandmas. Oh F**k. I just realised her watch has gone as well. The one she called "old faithful" and I wore at my wedding as 'something old'. That means that all the jewellery I was wearing at my wedding is gone.

And that really sucks.

Backup. Do it NOW!

Turns out I won't be putting any of the photos up here that I wanted to: whilst we were out today (literally in the middle of the day) some arseholes broke into our house and stole my camera, my two laptops and the jewellery that is irreplaceable because it has sentimental value: the earrings my mum and dad gave me for my graduation, and the beautiful garnet necklace and matching earrings they gave me for my 21st.

They didn't steal some stuff that I thought would have gone, like my Longines Dolce Vita watch and they overlooked the little wooden pot that my engagement ring was in, amazingly enough, given that it was right next to the other stuff they stole.

They also took the bag that Patrick uses for daycare. I mean, WTF? It's a very boring Kath.mandu messenger bag. And my old green backpack. The one I have had since year nine (1986) and that has taken me around the world twice and up and down mountains. That really hurts: me and that backpack, we have HISTORY.

But the worst thing is the loss of the photos of Ollie we can't replace from his birth, the photos of Patrick that were only on my laptop.

So DO IT. Backup. DO! IT! NOW!

Second time around.

Life seems to have settled back to some semblance of what will pass as 'normal' from now on. The second time around is both easier and harder, but I understand why my friend H once said "I wish you could have number two first": I mean, you know the world is not going to end if you are a few minutes late with a feed, and the baby won't explode if you aren't sure if he is hungry or wet or whatever. However, breastfeeding is more entertaining with a toddler who announces "Jump on a baby?" and poses, ready to spring. A few days ago Patrick also announced "Patrick have mummy boobie milk" and "Mine boobie milk!" so after Ollie was satisfied I decided to give him a go. The first attempt he just bit me, but after that he just looked mystified. We gave up.

Today was MrT's first day back at work and things went well. Granted, it was a daycare day for Patrick, but on the way home tonight it struck me that my mood is rather good at the moment, sleep deprivation notwithstanding. Two years ago I would have been in tears before breakfast was over: Ollie woke up every two hours overnight, I didn't have time for a proper shower because MrT had to go to work and Ollie was crying, Ollie did a massive Poo-nami as soon as MrT left (he only poos once every four days, and then, it's MASSIVE), Patrick was demanding Chuggingt.on repeats, the baby bath had a massive cockroach in it, Patrick refused to get dressed, refused to get in the pram, I forgot his daycare bag and only remembered half an hour into the walk to get there, it started to rain as we went home to get the daycare bag and I didn't have the pram cover with me and Patrick refused to put the shade down on the pram to stop himself from getting wet, Ollie was hungry when finally Patrick got to daycare (in the car) and started howling and then i couldn't find a park at the shopping centre. But I was fine. Fiiiine. God bless sert.raline. And my Therapist.

It helps that Oliver is a very different baby to Patrick. One of my friends confided that when she used to look after Patrick for me the one day a week we went to the pool she would get tinnutis (ringing in the ears) from Patrick howling as she tried to calm him down. I also met a woman who used to work in the building next door to our house (a medical centre of sorts) and she said that she and her colleagues would hear Patrick (and me) crying, and crying and crying and crying and say "That poor woman!". Patrick was a screamer. For hours. I wish it had been possible for me to have seen this when he was a baby: a much better explanation than "colic" which has no basis in medical fact, despite everyone knowing what it means.

That's not to say Oliver never cries: he does, but he's mostly very polite about it. If he's fussy, he fusses; squarks and squirms, not full-throttle howling. It's a refreshing change. I'm not going to dwell on the reasons why: likely it is a combination of his own personality coupled with the fact that I am way less stressed and I can actually breastfeed this time without having to express first.

I was worried when I was pregnant that I might compare Patrick and Oliver too harshly if Oliver did turn out to be less screamy than Patrick, but I find myself unable to because it's hard for me to equate Patrick the baby with Patrick the small boy who daily delights me. I love both my boys; with Oliver it's more visceral, Patrick is more complex as I've grown to love the little person he is. Prior to Ollie's birth I would not have thought this possible, but since he was born I actually feel like I love Patrick more than I did before.

Other comparisons: Oliver's hair is darker than Patrick's- not sure if that will all fall out and he'll be another blondie baby. He has a similar chin but it lacks my dimple. His eyes are turning the same colour as Patrick's . He is a hairy baby- he has a hairline that extends down to his eyebrows, and sideburns that go to the angle of his jaw (muttonchops to rival Hugh Jackman's). He remains huge: in the 2 weeks since discharge from hospital he put on 800grams (there's 480 grams in a pound) and he's still going by the looks of it. He's wearing the clothes that Patrick wore at 6 months at one month. He grew out of the 0000's by the time we left hospital.

And last night I think he smiled at me.

So, it's going well: much better than expected, anyway. In fact, some days I worry that I'm possibly getting manic. But then I realise how much i need my sleep and put that idea to rest! It's taken me about 4 days to write this, so whilst I'm hoping to put up some photos soon, it may be weeks.