Here Comes The Bride, There Goes The Vomit

We spent the weekend in Birmingham for the wedding of two of our friends, Chris and Kathryn. We'd been invited long before G was born and weren't really sure whether it would be a good idea to go. If she'd been born any later, or if there'd been any medical issues after the birth, we might have had to give it a miss. But we reckon things have been going ok, and of course we really wanted to be there, so we decided to give it a go and drove down on Friday afternoon.

Something about the movement means G likes car journeys, and she slept most of the way to Birmingham. It's the same when she's in her pram, and she was again snoozing happily when we got to the church on Saturday. Mrs J and G got lots of compliments from friends and strangers about how well they both looked so soon after the birth. This didn't make me quite as smug as it normally would because I couldn't shake the feeling that we'd forgotten something important amidst all the baby paraphernalia. Sure enough, we'd left the card behind in the hotel room. At least we got it that way round, I don't think anyone would have been impressed if we'd brought the card and lost the baby.

The service itself was lovely, the bride and groom looked wonderful and everyone was obviously having a great time. Mrs J gave G an extra big feed in the hope it would keep her quiet, but she was pretty restless during the reception. She kept looking around at all of the people when she should have been sleeping. Unsurprisingly, G soon got grouchy, so the two of us had to do a relay to make sure we both got to eat some dinner. However, as the picture shows, we did eventually manage to get her to sleep for a while next to the table. This meant G ended up staying at the reception longer than a baby boy a full seven weeks older than her, so it was one-up to her in the baby competition.

As the evening do started, Mrs J took the little one off for a feed in an ante-room. I'd managed to get halfway through my first pint of the day when I got a call from Mrs J telling me G had just thrown up on her dress. When I went to inspect the damage, I have to admit I was surprised by quite how epic the vomit was. It was also accurately aimed, all over the dress and not a drop on the carpet. Not that G seemed particularly bothered as we made our excuses and left. The excitement of the day might have got a bit too much for her, but she hadn't lost her ability to get our attention. She probably won't be quite so pleased with herself when we give her the dry cleaning bill on her 16th birthday.