The First Twelve Weeks... By Kate

Twelve weeks just shot by in a blur, where did they go? Rosie, it appears, swallows time along with her milk - in copious quantities.They do say that after three months, things start to get easier - or at least, the frazzled new parents start to feel their way out of the early fog of baby-centred bewilderment. The scrunched up little red-faced newborn is filling out and - all being well - smiling, cooing and gurgling in a most beguiling way. Rosie is certainly doing all that. But she's also starting to assert her personality too.

Where once I could instantly calm any fussing or crying with the simple application of breast (mine, preferably) into mouth (hers, generally), that's no longer the failsafe option. Which fills me with no little dread at the prospect of taking her on a plane to the UK next month (okay, as a phobic when it comes to flying, I'm already dreading it anyway). I've resolved to make sure we sit beside someone Spanish rather than someone British - they are usually much more tolerant about infants. But two hours of solid crying would test anyone's endurance and now her early newborn muted-digital-mashup-which-passed-for-crying has evolved into the kind of lusty yelling that proves her lungs and voicebox are both in excellent working order - well, it's not just the person sitting next to us I'm concerned about.

Anyway, back to the positive stuff. A vague bedtime/overnight routine has emerged, meaning she generally sleeps from around 1930 until 0930 with approximately four wake-ups for feeds in between (variation can still be within an hour and a half or so). Even better, Rosie's early sleep-decimating wind eruptions have now subsided, meaning both she and I get a better dose of shut-eye between hunger pangs.In other news, her feeding continues to improve, although it's a frustratingly two-steps-forward-one-step-back process, with all the fun of cracked nipples to prove it (lanolin cream, thou art my saviour) - with any luck, she'll get the hang of it by the time we start to wean her onto solids.

Nappies - well, I won't go into great detail about their contents, but let's just say where we used to have something deposited from her lower intestine at every change, we now go from one extreme to the other. Along with that is the fun of the dambuster (a major pee-leak - usually happens overnight for Mummy's extra entertainment during the 0300 nappy - and everything else - change) or the poosplosion. Vomageddon, on the other hand, has become a pleasingly rare ocurrence since a few veritable eruptions in the early weeks. Oh, the happy days of being showered by your offspring's bodily excretions - it gives parenting that truly authentic (for want of a better word) feeling.

The best stuff, though, is Rosie's alertness. She has truly entered the age of distraction and wants to look at everything. Watching her gazing around in wonder at the amazing visual qualities of our flat is a continual delight. Best of all are the face-splitting gummy smiles she bestows on us when we greet her in the morning or change her nappy. Now, that's what really makes parenting feel special.