Six weeks of Little

Esther pretending she hates the play gym thing. She doesn't, I swear.

Six weeks old and finally able to be put under toys and interact with some element of enthusiasm (for 2 minutes). My arms are very grateful for this brief respite.

Six weeks also brings the old breastfed-baby-poo-strike – she’s on day 5 of storing up. And the same age as her sister’s 10 day poo strike extravaganza, the culmination of which I remember only too well.

We’re heading to a wedding on Waiheke this weekend. I’m taking bets on whether Esther will end the strike either just before we head to the ferry (inevitably late), actually on the ferry (with limited bathroom facilities), or during the wedding ceremony. You just know it’s gonna be at the worst possible moment.

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