Happy New Year from LP

Happy New Year from LP

Jings, Crivens help ma boab, as they say around these parts. It’s Hogmany and Mummy  and Daddy are both in their “comfies” and about to sit down to watch TV. I can’t believe what a couple of party poopers they are but I guess they are getting on a bit. Mummy got a birthday prezzie of a pink leopard skin Onesie  and has decided to put it on. Daddy is clearly not a fan of the Onsie and has struggled for the past 4 months or so to do up my baby grow’s without having ‘spare’ poppers. I suspect he may be similarly  frustrated when it comes to mummy’s Onesie.
Anyway… Once again I digress. I just thought that I would say Happy New Year to you all. It’s been a great year for me and although I have say  cheerio to a few people I have said  hello to others. Don’t worry though, all those who have played a positive part in my early life thus far won’t ever be forgotten and mean an awful lot to me.

Mummy and Daddy have had a bit of a year too. The Stork brought me when the weather was way too hot. During the day I was covered in factor 50 and by night, the heat didn’t really help the blackout blinds stay stuck to my bedroom window, despite Mummy using a party pack of Duct Tape.  I’ve got to say that, once Daddy calmed down a bit, they were both quick learners. Code Brown’s, which used to cause consternation are now easily dealt with. As for food, well I eat pretty much anything, except for Steak Pie, which, to be honest, I don’t really understand. I think they will do just fine though. There were a few things that they should have realised sooner rather than later and saved themselves a load of worry.
Terminal Nappy Rash happens due to teething and not due to being novices in the nappy changing and the bum washing department.
Learn how to collapse my buggy before you place me in it and don’t drive 20 miles to Mothercare in order to ask rather than contacting the Stork. How embarrassing are you guys. MINTER!!

As you will all know I had my first Birthday a wee while ago. That went fine, em, yes, FINE! So fine that I can barely force myself to speak of it, but I feel that I can’t carry this resentment any longer. Daddy, no party bags, epic fail!!! You didn’t even redeem yourself by handing out crappy party cups. In future I shall leave the party planning to my future Godmother as she has proved her credentials when she bought me my first pair of pink Converse.

On the same subject, I also have to be grateful for my lovely family. Everyone has welcomed me in with open arms. I couldn’t feel more wanted, needed and loved. Mummy and daddy are very grateful for this too. It’s not only family who are important. I have all of Mummy and Daddy’s friends who care for them and me too and are so happy that my Mummy and Daddy have their very own Little person at last.

Well that’s enough from me. Thank you all again for being a part of my life. Keep a wee eye out for my future adventureshttp://ddandthelittleperson.blogspot.co.uk/  and be sure to fuss over me when next we meet.

The olds and I wish you good health and happiness for 2014
One last thing… If something, or someone is worth fighting for. Fight.

The 12 Day's of Christmas LP Style

One Little Person…..

One day, not so long ago LP came into our lives and totally took over. Whatever we were doing before seems like a dress rehearsal for having our we girl. YM and I had to wait way too long for our daughter, we must have been in the remedial Mummy and Daddy class and put back a few terms, but all the cool kids are, I guess! So, if I plan this right Gentle Reader you should be reading this whilst LP is fast asleep cuddled up next to her new best friend “Dooigie” whilst YM and I run about like headless chicken’s, wrapping prezzie’s and finishing off preparing Christmas dinner in order to allow me the opportunity to sit down for an hour and a half on Christmas Eve to become an emotional wreck, and it takes very little to push me over the edge these days,  watching Marley and Me.

LP asked me to say, “Babble dum bab da bum de”, which, as I am sure you are all aware, means Happy Christmas to you all of you with love from LP and her Mummy and Daddy

YM and I have the best Christmas present we could ever wish for…………… a Dyson handheld vacuum

Nah, only kidding………J

Two Happy Parents….

A wee while ago LP was delivered into our lives by the Stork. YM and I both remember the day the time the moment when we first saw her and fell totally and utterly in love as she blew a snot bubble from her right nostril. We realised that from that moment forward, life would never be the same for any of us ever again and we would have to face facts that our lives were over and “snuggle time” would be a thing of the past.
Talking of love, YM and I had met and fallen in love on or about the day that YM organised a motorbike escort to take us to my mother’s funeral (Loooong story)  Life before this, for me at least, could best be summed up by the words of Grace Potter, who sang “life ain’t good, but it ain’t boring”. I felt like I had lived a life less ordinary (Wee tip of the Hat to Graham Greene) before YM and I ever met and that, for the decade before LP came along, we enjoyed ourselves for the most part, filling our lives with work, friends, a rather crazy hound and a love of papier-mache modelling to 1:24 scale. Despite all this, YM and I always knew there was something missing. Trying to fill this void caused both of us a world of heartache and pain. The years passed by until one January we thought “What if”. This “what if” started as a hope and then, in time, grew into a reality.  The route of the Paris to Dakar Rally (I’ll avoid using the term “journey”) is most probably smoother than the one we travelled. Despite the twists and turns neither of us gave up, in my case, probably due to the fact YM would have maimed me. Step by step, every obstacle which was placed in our path was overcome and took us closer until…

One warm summer afternoon we were greeted by LP.

Three Boogie Babies……

Ah Boogie Babies, The Real Housewives of Broughty Ferry, the exquisite Pecan encrusted Tray Bakes, the singing, the interpretative dance and the wonderfully enthusiastic, and matronly in a good way, if you know what I’m sayin,  Boogie Lady. Need I say more? Goodness yes. LP loves her Friday morning visits to the BB Chapter House and I try to make the most of “creative flexi” in order to attend with her. I’m not convinced that the Boogie Lady is as enthusiastic about me accompanying LP, at least not after the “unpleasantness” which I have been instructed by the Courts not to speak of, however if you were of a mind you would be able to read about in my previous ramblings.

Unfortunately I was unable to escape from doing good work in the community last week  in order to attend the Boogie Baby Christmas party, however, I was press-ganged by YM into baking two dozen cupcakes for LP to take along to the party as her gift to the ruddy faced Children of Broughty Ferry, one of whom had previously stolen Daddy’s traybake and was then forced to hand the masticated sweetmeat back to me by his mother who was oblivious to the fact that I am not too keen on sharing my own daughters snot, never mind a complete strangers. So thanks to a hefty dusting of edible glitter there will be a lot of sparkly poo happening for the next few days which will no doubt disturb both parent and child. Apologies for the ‘scatter gun approach’ but in every conflict friendly fire seems, sadly,  to be expected….

Nice one LP. Revenge is sweet.

Four Baby Gates........

Dear Santa, I have been an OK Daddy for the past 5 months.  Can I have another Baby Gate and a bag of tennis balls, please?

I was considering using the Tennis umpire cry of “New Balls Please” but I figure it may be too obvious. Alas I am not attempting to follow in the footsteps of our very own Sports Personality of the Year (sorry Andy and readership, but I find the title ironic as my fellow Scot is not known for his Jeux De Vie) but I do require said tennis balls to cover the gonad height metal bolt which sticks out and becomes Preditor movie style invisible as I walk towards it. In life most pointy things appear to be covered with a burst Tennis ball, especially in church halls,perhaps reflecting in a biblical way the protection of faith and acting as a green beacon of hope to those unfortunates who would impale themselves. Furthermore I would envisage that said tennis balls would give the hound hours of fun as she attempts to, but fails abysmally to extricate them from the gate. It’s a win win situation really. That said, YM, forever the voice of reason (!!!!) thinks I should simply get used to shutting the baby gates all the time as this means that we will never leave the gates open and prevent the problem of LP climbing up stairs and playing with the pneumatic Nail Gun..... Again.
Good call Mrs Health and Safety. One Day LP will be old enough to dispense with injury inducing stair gates and  go to B&Q, so that I may vicariously learn how to hammer a nail in straight, or, as recent weeks would, sadly prove, lay vinyl floor tiles.

 Five Code Brown’s (sing it, it works!)....

“Beware the smiling assassin” This was the advice an old Manager, well, not so old, but you know what I mean,  gave me a few years back. Advice which  I have probably declined to fully appreciate until now.  Gentle reader, I am sure you are aware that, over the past months I have talked a lot on the subject of LP’s Code Brown’s.  Many of you would think that I talk a load of…. Shhhh your mouth at the best of times, but every word is true, well, OK, most of it is true, em well some of it anyways. Knowing LP as I do though, I believe  it is fair to say that she enjoy’s a good code brown as much as the next person and it’s clear to see that she isn’t put off by  YM and I shouting “She’s coding” in a dramatic ER kinda way as we rugby tackle her to the changing mat whilst one of us goes to fetch the Maragolds and coal tongs.

For the sake of this Yuletide ditty I shall attempt never to speak of such things again....... Save to say...

There are times when our normal chatterbox  LP will suddenly go a little quiet, perhaps a little too quiet if you know what I mean. Observe the pursed lips the frown and then the demonic smile. Gentle Reader, LP has just completed an, apparently, quite satisfying code brown before your very eyes.

One, two, three AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARG!

Six Emergency Dummies........

I have a feeling that YM will pop out to the shops to buy a pound of Lorne Sausage.. or “Sassaj” as they say round here, and the next time I will see her will be on GMTV with Lorraine Kelly (Yum) live from a run down Court House surrounded by  mastachioed Police Officers (YM not, dear sweet Lorraine).

Where is this going? Yes, I can hear you ask... or is it the voices again... Hmmm. Anyways YM has the ability to secret Dummies about her person and then whip em out (so to speak) on que. The que in question being an LP meltdown which can’t be addressed by singing I’m a little teapot (with moves), raspberries to the tummy or indeed  Calpol. In these circumstances it’s good to know that YM will be able to, no matter where she is, reach down, in or indeed up and grab a dummy with which to pop into LP’s mouth.

I never cease to be  amazed by YM and the valuable lessons she learned whilst on a Gap Year in Thialand.

Seven Clothing  Malfunctions....

One winter, many years ago I worked as a Chef in a French ski resort.  T’was in that sleepy mountainside  village that I wore White Stuff for the first time. Over the years, prior to LP, it would be fair to say that I amassed a rather large collection of White Stuff clothing and accessories all before it became the Uniform of Harry and Kate at St Andrews.  Sadly those days are gone now and in the past they must remain....as the song goes, for both YM and I now realise that with a homemade Strawberry Jam and Brioche encrusted LP any thought of dressing with even a smidgen of sartorial elegance  goes out of the window. A fellow survivor who, it should be said, was never really known for his dress sense advised me that cargo pants are the way forward as they can be filled with a cornucopia of handy items which allow LP to go outside in relative safety. Nappies, Sudocrem, bonnie wee hat, gloves, stun gun, those wee scissors for cutting bairn’s nails as LP seems to be able to grow super sharp ones and then attempt to carve her name in, thankfully, inanimate objects, maragolds and in place of coal tongs, which would cause all sorts of questions to be asked by passers by in ASDA, doggie poo bags, which in may respects are so so wrong yet soooooo right.

Talking of dogs... in a round about way. I like to think I am a man who can carry off a pink shirt of an evening. My metrosexual bent is however in jeopardy for the same reasons as we had a beige flat (including carpets). Beige, Gentle Reader, covers a multitude of sins. A fact I was unaware of in my youth, but one which might have prevented a lot of awkward questions. It was clear that having the Hound for one week required us to spend the next eight years painting the flat Forth Road Bridge style in Beige paint to cover up the many doggie related incidents. In the same way I have taken to wearing beige in an attempt to make it less obvious when I have been secreted on by LP.

Beige is definitely the new black.

Eight missing screws.....

Gentle reader, let me explain. Many of you will think I am talking of myself and my seven imaginary friends. This is not the case.  I am actually talking about missing screws. Here’s the thing, I have many tools, more tools than I know what to do with and operate with any degree of safety. I’m not sure of the difference between a wood and a metal drill bit, I tried to use a coving (mmmmmm, coving) mitre box as a regular mitre box to cut skirting board. Nuff said about that, save to say YM had to buy an occasional table to hide my shame. You get the picture though. Screwdrivers. I have many. Some Flatheaded some Philips, some which light up when I attempt to play with electricity prior to isolating at the mains... note to self: Don’t make the same mistake twice). Anyway what I don’t have is a wee teeny screwdriver. In reality I have many but I don’t put things away properly, or so I am constantly reminded. LP has many toy’s. I have a feeling Santa will bring her many more. The wee screw that secures the clip on the battery compartment of various toy’s and automatons did not mean a whole lot to me prior to LP. I would simply hack into it with a pointy knife and loose it in the shag pile. No longer. Gentle reader, Since LP came along I now understand the true meaning and indeed value of this screw. Never again will it be abandoned as it is the front line in preventing LP accessing the battery compartment and attempting to stick them up her nose.

Little Person/Duracell Bunny.... Just say No!

Nine broken phones....

OK so slight exaggeration. It’s not nine broken mobiles. Two well chewed mobiles and two malfunctioning TV related remote controls. From the get go LP has had a fascination with mobiles and remotes. I find it hard to remember a day going by when YM and I don’t find ourselves frantically looking under furniture and checking bins for these objects. At this time of year it’s probably worse. I blame myself, I really do. In an attempt to moderate LP’s wild ways post white chocolate consumption I have taken to making idle threats that Santa won’t be visiting unless she behaves. Of course all these idol threats are indeed idle and hardly real threats as LP, for some reason, know’s that as soon as I mention Santa’s name she can pick up anything which resembles a phone and communicate directly, in her own special language with the big man himself. I should imagine that every Little Person has a hotline to Santa. Our LP just does it sooo much better.

Ten quality breakfasts.....

It would be fair to say that the Hound is not a vegetarian. Not that our doggie has anything against vegetarians and would probably eat a whole one at a push. Thus, breakfast time see’s a rather happy LP and a less than happy hound. The hound has taken to circling round LP’s highchair Jaw’s fashion in order to wait for any foodstuffs which LP decides that she can’t really be bothered with. Sadly, for the Hound at breakfast time there are slim pickings. LP’s breakfast would be applauded in the finest restaurants in Europe for its colour, nutritional value and all round loveliness.....Much like Lorraine Kelly.  Even in the depths of winter and thanks to a scant regard for Carbon Footprints LP can enjoy fruit from around the world, some of which I have failed dismally to remember the names of and have to rely on Monica my anally retentive Manager and our, in many respect, collectively unnatural ability, to play Charades in order to differentiate between Physalis and a Mangosteen.

Eleven   swimming lessons....

LP smiles that sweet Chucky smile as she sits happily in her safety flotation device which looks like it could be used to save many a poor soul lost at sea. Swimming with LP is fun if fraught with danger. Oddly enough the danger is not necessarily water related. Like most things these days, going swimming with LP necessities leaving the house two hours early and employing Sherpa’s to assist taking all the necessary accoutrements  with us. Swimming is worse! Gentle Reader, quite simply this is due to a rather lazy YM who apparently has the lung capacity of a sparrow with emphysema. I am sorry to name and shame YM , I really am.  LP enjoys a bob on the water in her life preserver which as mentioned previously should have supplies stashed about its hull and the means to erect a mast...O’h and a flair gun too. Considering the size of this vessel may I suggest to YM that she deflates it before shoehorning it into the car.

For shame YM for shame.

Twelve .... well Twelve Hundred, Twelve Thousand, who knows, Friends....

Actually it’s more than twelve but (thankfully) this song only goes up to twelve so twelve it is. I know YM and I am totally biased but LP seems to bring a lot of people a lot of joy, not least YM and I. For those of you who don’t know who Oor Willie is, he’s a character from a long running cartoon strip from around this neck of the woods. You may feel inclined to Google.  His tag line of "Oor Wullie! Your Wullie! A'body's Wullie!" rings true in the life of LP too. No matter where you are in the world, there is a little bit of all who care for her with her.

Hopefully you have enjoyed these vignettes. Happy Christmas and a Good New Year to you all.

Party Night

On the FIRST day of Christmas our daughter gave to us…… Our first night out in 4 months

Yes Dear Readers it’s Christmas time and that means that it’s almost time for a DD and the Little Person Christmas Special. There will not be an “Xmas” in sight either….. Well OK, except for that one, this is going to be a Santa baby grow, mince pie and Turkey of an unfeasible proportion kinda blog featuring none other than our little Christmas Pudding, the one and only LP.

But first a little story………….

T’was many nights before Christmas…..and the frivolities started with a Jolly good night out and, as YM and I have not had the opportunity to spend an evening without being surrounded by baby monitors, washing and obscure stains, we thought it was high time that we press ganged or niece who, last time we spoke was between jobs, but is now the CEO of a global distribution company. CEO or not, when dereliction of duty called, young Kirkton Niece was ready and able to take the call on her rhinestone embossed Samsung. Kirkton Niece jumped at the chance as she loves our wee LP and manages, without the aid of E numbers to keep up with her. So, after Kirkton Niece had been across to ASDA in her Onsie and bought herself 2 bars of Galaxy and a party pack of Red Bull to fortify herself for the task, she headed over, en route, via B and Q, to purchase a pair of gauntlet gloves and some coal tongs to assist her in changing LP’s nappies as she was none too keen on toxic code brown’s. 

Anyway… with major thanks to Kirkton Niece, YM and I set about, alas not in the best John Smeeton style, getting ready to go on our night out. It had been a while and to say that YM and I were excited about going out was an understatement. We were looking forward to seeing our friends from Bootcamp all dressed up in their bonny frocks and novelty Santa kipper ties. The last time I had spent any time with them, I was soaking wet, covered in sand and absolutely dripping in Lycra. I thanked my lucky stars that, by the time the Camp Commandant had forced my fellow survivors and I to run up and down the sand dunes of Broughty Ferry a gazillion times we were all in the latter stages of hypothermia, as this saved many of us from getting a minter at the state we were in (embarrassed, to my non Scots readership).

The old adage “time is a healer” reverberates around my head as I sadly remember just what preparation for going on a night out entails. Luckily, as LP was tucking into Tyrannosaurus Rex shaped chicken breast and spelling out profanities in Alphabetti Spaghetti supervised by Kirkton Niece, who, by this time, was already multitasking by reading Take a Break and  chatting on our home phone  to her boyfriend Daryl (24) about his recent appearance on Jerry Kyle where he openly discussing his fetish for 1980’s power ballads, was, thankfully oblivious to YM and I attempting to prepare ourselves appropriately for the wonders of a “Party Night” which constitutes Christmas dinner followed by an evening of interpretive dance moves performed by intoxicated firemen, generated by a free half bottle of house white per person and the musical styling’s of a local radio DJ.

Of course preparation for any night out, or indeed anything at all really, stopped when the Stork brought LP. YM and I used to prepare lunches and iron clothes of an evening. Dinner dishes would be washed, hound's would be released and baths would be had. All of this is a distant memory as YM and I fight over who will be lucky enough to get a shower (YM) and who will be lucky enough to do the last minute ironing (you guessed it: ME). Also, due to a house move we still don’t know were once important things were, for example Cuff Link’s, which thankfully YM found before I was forced to use a stapler to fasten the cuff’s on my only “dress shirt” which still remained white as it had not been worn over the past 4 months and within 20 ft of LP who seems to be able to project bodily fluids on clothes by way of some ability born not of this world. I feel that I should not tempt fate by dressing LP in Superman baby grow or travel anywhere in the vicinity of 1970’s phone booths.

It has to be said, YM is altogether more elegant than me, This was clearly demonstrated as I stumbled across the landing trying to avoid, but failing dismally, an upturned socket guard which caused me to unceremoniously fall on to our bedroom door which caused it to open in a rather theatrical manner just as YM was slipping on a pair of marigolds.

Ging’s Crivin’s help ma boab (as they say around these parts).

I did indeed question just what I had stumbled upon. Gentle reader, no not be alarmed. Once YM had picked me up off the ground and removed the brown paper bag from my mouth which I was frantically breathing into,  she advised that this was simply wearing rubber gloves as it was, apparently, the best way to put on tights. On reflection I found myself to have rather juxtaposed emotions. That of relief yet an equal measure of disappointed.

YM and I finally made it downstairs to be greeted by a tomato sauce covered YM and a Niece who had clearly aged by 10 years and, it would be fair to say, had not had her looks enhanced by the strands of spaghetti which were clinging to her, once lustrous, hair. If this were ancient Greece Kirkton Niece would have been revered as Medusa. Alas it was not.

Before we headed to the car YM and I air kissed LP Goodnight, for fear that we too would suffer the fate of Kirkton Niece.  As YM and I walked, hand in hand, to the car we both felt a little uneasy.  Something was missing. We knew that LP was safely inside being cared for by Kirkton Niece but, in the four or so month’s since LP arrived, one or both of us has always been in the company of LP.

This was the first time one or both of us had left home without pushing, lifting, carrying, soothing, cajoling, singing or attempting to wipe strange stains off of our clothes.

Strange day’s indeed.

 

We both had a great time with our friends and despite a rather neurotic daddy calling home a couple of times to for a “Sit Rep” YM and I managed to relax just about long enough to enjoy the Christmas night out. YM was sleeping soundly on our return home and Kirkton Niece had even left us some Chocolate.

Boogie Babies revisited

Gentle reader, do not be overcome by an attack of the vapours and take to your bed in Victorian fashion… much like YM did today. You will be relieved to hear everyone is OK and has survived yet another day just about intact. Alas some of us are more intact than others, with LP doing rather better than her mummy and daddy over the course of the day… and what a long day it was.

The day started at about 2.30 am when LP awoke with coughs, sniffles and unholy guff’s. As YM has selective hearing it was initially up to Daddy to make an attempt to negotiate his way out of bed and through to LP’s room without  kneecapping himself. The winter months are indeed cruel and as the Hood is well above sea level the temperature is a few degree’s lower than our posh coastal neighbours, so the central heating is now cranked up to 11. I ordinarily find diving out of bed in the middle of the night Starsky and Hutch style to tend to my daughter to be less arduous when I find myself to be enveloped in the warmth of a warm room, however it is not so pleasant when the radiator is set to 11 and it’s glowing white hot as my left buttock connected to it.

By the time I made it through to LP’s room she had gone past the melt down point of no return. Like counting the seconds between thunder and a subsequent bolt of lightning, she reached the stage when crying is preceded by silence as, I assume, she inhaled in order to let rip again. So reaching in to LP’s cot, the room only illuminated by the 2^nd degree burn on my bum cheek, I scooped up a rather soggy faced LP and attempted to soothe her as best I could. The look on LP’s face was akin to YM’s when she was informed that the parenting urban myth that Calpol has a sedating effect is indeed fictitious. I do however hold an advantage over YM as I am considering telling LP that Calpol does not make her snoozie thus destroying any placebo effect. LP attempted to snuggle into me and calm down, sadly, we both realised that the game was a bogey and we would have to seek support from the big guns, AKA YM, in order to turn that frown upside down. Not wishing to lose face I cuddled LP and, for some reason, managed to calm her enough to pop her back in her cot and for me to make my way back to bed without causing myself further damage.

Lying in bed, listening to the silence, interspaced by the hound frantically licking her anal gland, I could do nothing but wait for sleep. 2.45 am is not the time to wait for sweet Morpheus to take me in her arms, it is a time when every right minded person should be asleep. Clearly this is not the domain of the parent, well for this one anyway as YM slumbers beside me oblivious to the burns I have sustained and to her daughter’s recent meltdown. As I lay in bed pondering whether to get up to make a cup of tea and again risking further injury, LP stirs once more and raises the decibel bar to a new and lofty level.

As a Daddy I know the level of my abilities. As was pointed out to me by a fellow survivor a week or so ago, LP only spends about 3 hours awake in my company a day, YM has her for considerably more and therefore has a deeper understanding of LP’s needs and a bond which, sadly, I will never have. Foolishly I have, in the past attempted to challenge this bond by questioning the chocolate rich diet of LP during the day or by making the occasional fashion suggestion. These offerings of advice have for the most part been treated with contempt and, on occasion, outright hostility, however at silly o’clock I am in no way keen to argue over the finer points of parenting and require YM to awaken and assist LP.

My normal modus Operandi (yes I confess I have done this before) is to gently nudge a sleeping YM until she awakens . Usually I push her a few times with my bum until she’s teetering on the edge of the bed and wakes up just before she falls into oblivion. This usually effectively does the job and YM awakens with a startle and promptly leaps to the aid of LP. Alas on this occasion I could not adopt this method due to the burns to my behind. Feeling somewhat guilty I have to advise that I took a rather Machiavellian approach and gently called to the hound to come over. Ever the obedient doggie, she jumped up and laid between YM and I. Without further ado I quickly rolled over causing the hound to let out a bark, YM woke with a startle, I chastised the hound, YM went to the aid of LP, and order was restored to the universe.

After mega mummy cuddles, warm milk and a nappy change, the latter being a joint effort, YM eventually returned to the cot and slept peacefully until we were again awoken at about 7 pm by the hound pacing up and down.

YM had been making plans the night before to meet up with one of the Real  Housewives of Broughty Ferry and attend the  Boogie Babies chapter house for tray bakes and bean bag songs. Sadly for YM her plans were to be thwarted, not once but twice. I had taken a flexi day and was keen to attend Boogie’s for posh coffee and tray bakes, oh and to spend some quality time with LP. In truth, YM struggles to attend Boogie Babies with me after some unpleasantness which we shall not speak of again save to say that that I will never question the portion control of an Aero Bar tray bake ever again. Alas, if this were not enough for YM it became clear, by the number of trips to the smallest and after this week, the most eclectically decorated due to me not realising that patterned floor tiles follow some kind of pattern (the clue may have been in the name), room in the house that YM may have succumbed to a LP acquired infection. YM made an executive decision and, through the chemical and biological suit I insisted she donned attempted to mime her intentions not to go out in public for the rest of the day.

With YM temporarily incapacitated it was time for a quick breakfast of fruit and Pain aux Chocolate for LP and 2 cups of coffee and a Losec for me. So after whipping what I would assume was chocolate from various orifices, LP was assisted to dress in her best John Rocha frock.

Soon we were on our way down to Boogie Babies, our expectations as high as Freddie’s Falsetto as we drove across town listening to Bohemian Rhapsody. The journey was really quite uneventful. LP had taken her shoes off, thrown her John Rocha hat to the floor and was happily blowing snot bubbles. All fairly normal really.

 

On our arrival Boogie Babies was starting to fill up with the usual collection of ruddy faced babies and toddlers. Various mums and dads sat about anxiously waiting for the chapter leader to enter the hall and whip the assembled masses into a frenzy before, again, abruptly stopping for coffee and tray bakes. As poorly YM had planned to meet with her friend Betty and her little person to show her the ropes, I dutifully waited for her to arrive and then sat with Betty in a misguided attempt to prevent any incidents.

Sadly, and somewhat predictable, today did not go without incident. First of all I do have to look to myslf and see what part I have to play in things. I really should not have positioned LP and I directly next tho the chapter leader as she commenced the sing song section. I felt compelled to attempt to keep up with the Leader as she twisted and gyrated, It was clear that, by the time we got through sleeping bunnies and the bean bag song that the chapter leader and I were locked in a 1970’s style dance off and one of us was going to lose. As the introduction to Heads, Shoulders Knee’s and Toe’s kick in I poised myself, ready to commence the first moves. LP had, by now, lost complete interest in me and was now trawling the room looking for stray sippy cups and bean bags. As the music kicked in the chapter leader cranked up her radio mic in an attempt to sing me into submission. Faster and faster the relentless movements of head and toes, knees and arms were made, beads of perspiration formed on our foreheads as the leader and I became oblivious to the others in the room and became lost in the song. Suddenly the chapter leader lost momentum as she faltered her moves and fell to the ground, a quivering wreck. The audience cheered, small children poo’d themselves with excitement and the chapter leader admitted defeat and threw her radio mic to the floor in defeat.

Victory was indeed sweet……as was the tray bake I was about to eat if it were not for Betty and her complete inability to multi task. Betty (whose name has been changed to protect the guilty) said she would keep an eye on my cake whilst I retrieved LP from underneath a table and encouraged her to eat her own weight in raisins.

A simple task you might think however Sarah, I mean Betty was clearly distracted as she failed to see a small child saunter towards my cake, pick it up in his kleptomaniac hands and take a bite or three from it. Unluckily for me recidivist child’s mother saw her son and swiftly intervened by taking the cake of her child and replacing it with a custard cream which clearly was not seen as a good replacement to tray bake judging by the child’s meltdown. The half-eaten cake, with the icing still sticky with saliva was then handed back to me with the words

“It’s OK, he doesn’t have cooties”.

 

 

 

 

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

Babble dab a flubble bla dooo boo da da baa poob poob………

Nah, me neither. Just because Mummy and Daddy can’t understand me properly yet it doesn’t mean that you can’t Santa.

Anyhoo, LP here. First time writer, long term fan. When I say “long term” I really mean only a few months but you come highly recommended to me from Daddy who tells me all about you every time I pick up a TV remote control or a mobile phone and hold it to my ear, as, apparently, am prone to do.  I really do need to trust daddy as in my short life I have learned from bitter experience that  I really shouldn’t annoy the Chef. Also Santa, you have to remember too that it’s not been too long since the Stork brought me to Mummy and Daddy so you could really say I am actually a long term fan cos I’m only little.

Daddy tells me that you are the chap who checks up on me and makes sure I have been a good girl and if I haven’t then I won’t get any prezzie’s. That’s a wee bit harsh don’t you think?, but it doesn’t matter to me too much at all really. Don’t tell Daddy, but the threats of no prezzie’s don’t really do it for me. If we had a chimney, you would be able to  take a wee fly by, as opposed to a drive by which is more common in the Hood, as Daddy likes to refer to our present location and check up on how well I pick things up and pass them to other people. Mind you, when I pass objects like, runner beans, breadsticks with one soggy end and on occasion Stealth Poo to other people they have to say “Ta” or I have a wee melt down and have also been known to ‘code’. 

I find this to be the best way to enforce my will on others but I am aware that this would be   frowned upon in later life and I  will have to find other ways to wind my folks, especially daddy, round my little finger, in years to come.

So when it comes to prezzie’s I’m of the view that I don’t  need stuff really although there are a few things that I wouldn’t really mind. Of course the occasion of my first birthday some months ago did yield a veritable gold mine of gifts, many of which I am still trying to eat, dribble on or hide down the back of the Settee, although, sadly, due to some “unpleasantness” over the lack of Party Bags I have been instructed by mummy and daddy never speak of this again. I do have one question though Santa. Did all the other children have glittery poo’s, or as we like to call it “code bling's” after eating my, somewhat ironic for my tea total parents, pink elephant Birthday cake?

So Santa, how’s about some wrapping paper please. I’m partial to paper though mummy and daddy say that I really shouldn’t be eating it. If you possibly can, how’s about bringing me some flavoured paper though you might just have to invent this too. Hmm, what flavors? Strawberry is my favourite at the moment though I realise that they are now well out of season so I won’t hold out much hope. I’m second favourite flavour at the moment is my doggies ear as I quite like to chew on it much to the horror of Mummy and Daddy and most probably the hound too i shoild imsgine. I’m not really sure what flavor that is though but I'm sure you will do your best for me.

On the subject of food, Santa, did I tell you that I am eating what mummy and daddy are eating now, well almost. I’m not really sure about steak pie, well that and Haggis. Despite the fact that I am Scots I can’t really understand why anyone is completely happy with the notion of eating sheep’s lungs, but I will try and usually succeed ineat pretty much anything so much so that Mummy and Daddy are in a high state of alert whenever i go near a house plant. And as for the tabloid press, yes, yes I know that paper isn’t one of my 5 a day but, for the moment, that’s the way I roll.

Daddy does get a wee bit OCD when it comes to my diet though. I don’t really mind but I draw the line at molecular gastronomy. Who does he think he is, Heston blooming Blumenthal? Daddy should know by now that I am not really a snail porridge kinda girl and I have actually moved on from nicking normal porridge from Daddy as it is not and never should be considered to be finger food.

With this in mind Santa, please may I have a pair of scissors, safety ones of course. Clearly daddy is amused at the sight of me attempting to eat spaghetti but to be honest I draw the line when it comes to re-enacting the spaghetti and meatball scene from The Lady and the Tramp with a 7 year old Springer Spaniel with soggy ears. I suspect you might want to pop the scissors in mummy’s prezzie pile as I am sure that she would like to assist me to cut my spaghetti up rather than watch me sook so hard that I poo myself.

So far so good Santa. That’s wrapping paper and scissors. All I need now is some rock and we could have a wee game going on Tee hee.

Sorry Santa, you don’t get off that lightly. Pweese Pweese Pweese can you get Daddy an audition on the X –Factor. Believe me, he sings all the time in fact I don’t think I have actually heard him say a full sentence to me unless he’s singing. I try to tell him that “let Daddy change your code browned nappy" sung in Baritone is any less humiliating if he were to actually say the words. Sadly he is as  Sister Sledge once sang “Lost in Music”.

Santa, you have not heard the half of it. Daddy’s singing was tolerable but since he got in with that bad lot at Boogie Babies he’s started to do hand movements too. Mummy told me that daddy wasn’t great shakes at doing YMCA but I am here to tell you he is hopeless at the bean bag song. What kind of role model do you call that?

 So, If you could see that Daddy get’s through to the X Factor live rounds in a Jedward or Wagner kinda way that people will ridicule him in public and if he’s lucky he’ll get a job in a holiday camp, I would be most grateful.

Santa, I’m almost done now, you will be very glad to hear. As you can see my list isn’t that long compared to some other little people I guess. I pretty much have all that I need for the moment and mummy and daddy tell me that since I got delivered by the Stork that they have everything that they could possibly wish for too.

Daddy tell’s me that on Christmas Eve we are going to make some mince pies, or Peh's as he calls them, for yourself and some carrot sticks for Rudolf so be sure to look out for them when swinging by the Hood. Before I go to bed Daddy's going to take me outside and look for the Christmas star just like he used to do with his mummy when he was little, if I see you I shall give you a wee wave.

Mummy and Daddy tell me that they can’t wait to spend their first Christmas with me, after all they have had to wait a long time for me to come along.

Yours in Anitici..................pation

Little Person xxx

 

Mummy and Daddy got to help their LP to write her first of many letters to Santa.

 

Watch out for a 12 day’s of Christmas special

 

Baby Steps

Baby Steps

Gentle reader, its been a wee while since the Stork swooped down carrying LP in her beak. We have moved on from panicking over neglecting to sterilise feeding bottles to trying not to allow LP to share her tea with the hound or to eat her own weight in news paper. LP receiving carpet burns on her tootsies from speed crawling on the once pristine living room rug seems like a mild inconvenience compared to protecting LP from the dangers inherent in walking when everything presents as being at LP eye level, at least for the moment. I say for the moment as LP has suddenly taken a growth spurt and has gone from petite to humungous in a matter of weeks. YM and I are of the opinion that this is due to LP’s new found love of pasta. Some might say that I should cut LP’s spaghetti up prior to serving it,  I rather pooh pooh convention on this one and believe that it is wholly appropriate to present LP with al dente Spaghetti which is two thirds her height.  It is a joy to watch LP eat spaghetti and she has now developed her own style, most probably out of necessity as, clearly, LP does not yet possess the manual dexterity to twirl a fork. To be honest I wouldn’t really like to let her loose with a fork as I think LP may use it as a weapon. So, devoid of cutlery, at least until LP can develop a grasp of English and YM and I can deploy de-escalation techniques to talk her down should LP turn on us, LP simply winds spaghetti round one fist and then pops it in her mouth, fist and all.  

Tis a joy to behold.

 LP seems to take change in her stride unlike YM and I who have spent the past night moving on from a baby proofed home to attempting, and failing, to create a toddler proof home. The simple answer would be to pop down to the nearest branch of Staples and purchase a party pack of bubble wrap. This would then be applied to every object which is not spherical in an attempt to prevent LP from concussing herself. If I had realised this before hand I could have saved myself the inconvenience of losing a testicle on the baby gate a few months ago… Ah well hindsight is, as mystic Meg says, a wonderful thing. I would have also realised that, sadly,  Staples went into receivership a few months ago and the time for purchasing liquidation sale bubble wrap is long past. Back onto the subject of baby gates, the three we have fitted has proved to be insufficient within our home. The kitchen, stairs and LP’s room all have them but YM and I are giving some serious consideration to fitting them to every door frame. In darker moments I have also considered razor wire and electrification but as YM pointed I have a poor track record in baby gate avoidance thus increasing the risk to my gonads is not one of my better ideas. Thanks YM, I knew you cared.

 Whilst not claiming impicunity, YM and I are watching the pennies in order to do what we said we would never ever do,  spoil LP rotten at Christmas. When I say spoil, YM and I won’t be spending the GDP of a small principality at Toys backwards R Us, though we do have great plans to buy her lots of wrapping paper and empty boxes to play with, and probably eat, as despite presently owning a veritable cornucopia of age appropriate toy’s, LP prefers to while away her playtime hours shredding newspaper and playing peek-a-boo from behind YM’s  box of chocolate Weetabix of a morning. As with bubble wrap and Staples, I really hope this is not a bad omen for Clinton’s card or  the Weetabix Food Company.

The safety of LP does not come cheap especially a marauding LP who now toddles through the house opening everything which shouldn’t be opened and tipping over everything that is likely to be spilt. As you will know doubt agree the safety of LP is paramount and therefore YM and I don’t begrudge taking appropriate  steps to provide safety and comfort for her. I want LP to grow up watching and learning how to cook like I did with my Granny, therefore a safe kitchen environment is paramount. There are of course winners and losers in this. Our poor hound is looking considerably  dehydrated since LP came to believe that washing her face in the hounds water bowl was right and proper. YM and I have effectively dealt with this problem by undertaking 15 minutes Observations on our hounds water bowl when LP enters the kitchen via Checkpoint Baby Gate. Sadly, the draw problem has proven somewhat more time consuming and costly to address.  Do you know how many draws you have in your living room or perhaps kitchen? No cheating now.  Our living room has 12 and our kitchen about the same. That means that YM and I have to purchase and install 24 locks in an attempt to keep our wee LP away from shiny objects of desire AKA Chef’s knives, Brillo pads and the odd domestic cleaning product. Much research was undertaken before an order of baby proofing locks was placed and the articulated lorry with one of those dinky wee fork lifts on the back was dispatched to deliver the locks to our home. All so far so good. I then decided that it would be a good idea to unpack all the lock components and bin the instructions and wrappings. So, armed with my electric cordless drill……..Is it just me or does everyone who picks up a cordless drill feel compelled to do Travis Bickle (De Niro) Taxi Driver impersonation?

You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me? Then who the hell else are you talking... you talking to me? Well I'm the only one here……….

Anyway, deep breath, armed with my cordless drill I set about emptying the contents of my 12 kitchen draws randomly over the worktops before I faced the painful truth that the locks were not suitable for the draws. Bollocks

 

 If anyone wants to buy a job lot of locks…..

 

Sunday morning.

YM, who is far more sensible than me, went out and purchased locks which simply stick onto the doors and, sadly, for my De Niro impressions, don’t require any drilling. LP and I enjoyed some quality and safe Daddy Daughter Time this morning  making our first of many, Christmas Cakes together.

Beyond my wildest dreams.

 

 

 

 

Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane

 

A wee rub down with a damp chamois or perhaps  just the wire wool and carbolic?  Gentle reader, the choice is yours.

Hush your mouth, do not be alarmed. These terms serve to describe the level of personal care  I would offer my less ambulant patients of a morning.  Well, come to think of it, I would imagine they were a little alarmed too and may well have been considering a wee call to the Nursing and Midwifery Council.  Ah, day’s gone by. So, picture the scene as we move swiftly away from reminiscence therapy and come back into the slightly distorted  world of LP, YM and DD today…….

Of all the treasured, as opposed to the simply ordinary  times (though I haven’t found many of them really) I spend with LP, bath time has to be my favorite. I still fondly remember the first time I bathed LP. The code brown which bobbed up to the surface taunted me and acted as a pooie talisman which signified the, um, shape of things to come. This 20 minutes or so  of exclusivity with my LP does however  require planning and rehearsal prior to the live show.

Bath time is akin to a cabaret and the duck printed shower curtain comes up at 6.15 PM prompt.

Sadly, YM and I don’t really have any theatrical leanings. The realisation of this, for me, came as somewhat of a shock as many people had described me as a drama queen. YM, until LP came along, enjoyed a good drama too, if one is to consider Eastenders, Corrie and many other soap’s produced by our Antipodean Cousins. Alas not only has the watching of soaps gone out the window, YM has also cancelled her platinum subscription to Soap Opera Weekly which is a major loss to the print industry of the UK and purveyors of personalised, limited edition baubles which YM read about and lusted after in the pages therein.

Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane (DDT) or as I like to refer to it Daddy Daughter Time has nothing to do with pesticide you will be relieved to hear. DDT is the time that I get to spend with LP whilst YM and various friends and relatives get to laugh at my poor singing via the baby monitor outside the bathroom and my total inability to remember all the words to a song. I say total but what I actually mean is all bar one. For some reason I know all the words to Paradise by the Dashboard Lights. LP likes this and is particularly keen that, since bath time became  exclusively DDT, I am expected to do the female vocals too. Oh to see her little face light up…..

”let me sleep on it babe babe, let me sleep on it, let me sleep on it, I’ll give you an answer in the morning”…..

Anyways,  after tea and a quick play with various toy’s which now scatter every square foot of carpet and whilst I get my daily fix of Sky News and potter about on Facebook for 5 minutes, it’s bath time for LP.  It is fair to say that both YM and I are fans of social media. In truth, there has been occasions prior to the Stork delivering that LP, that YM and I have communicated with each other via the medium of Facebook whilst in the same room as each other. Gentle reader, armed with this knowledge, and a web link, the terrible truth is about to be revealed.  

A friend, who shall remain anonymous and really should have known better shared a link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jo6dkHgT6TI  and suggested that I might like to attempt this to entertain LP. For Shame Jenny, For Shame. I must admit that I was not expecting to be watching this rather obese and slightly sinister man smear baby shampoo over his mouth and then proceed to blow bubbles. Nor that, in  that instant, I would decide that  this would be a great idea and constitute LP’s bath time entertainment for the night. Strange days indeed.

 

Bath time for LP invariably commences with me adopting a booming Victorian voice and instructing YM to “Bring me the child”, YM scoops LP up and carry’s her upstairs as I busy myself running a bath for LP. As LP decided that today would be the day she would start to walk  I am pretty sure  carrying duties may be rendered obsolete in a short time. This is no bad thing really, though she will have to do a little better than 4 toddles and a fall on arse which she achieved on several occasions today.  I do wonder what will happen when she does achieve the grace and poise of a ballerina as YM was near incontinent with excitement over the 4 steps. I will continue to adopt an encouraging yet reserved approach in praising LP  in the sure and certain knowledge that this will spur her on to achieve greater things which will be useful in the care of YM and I as we head towards our twilight years.

Who am I trying to kid! YM’s first steps may not have been digitally recorded, however they have been etched in my memory.

The “Hands up babe Hands up” by Ottawan approach to undressing LP (as discussed previously) continues to be adopted at bath time. This is closely followed by the “Russian Roulette” approach in taking her nappy off. This approach adopts aspects of  the “no sniffing” model where the nappy is removed as LP stands holding onto the side of the bath without having prior knowledge of the content of said nappy.  The nappy is rolled up anticlockwise in an attempt to catch the entire code brown, if indeed it is a code brown, before some or all lands on the bathroom mat. After 4 months I feel I am becoming a skilled practitioner at this although it is also clear that fragments of stealth poo may become dislodged from the Motherload and then sat upon when I attempt to adopt the “no, it's the rubber ducks who is singing to you, not Daddy” pose as I hunker down and attempt to hide below the rim of the bath.

With nappy now off, LP is swung up and into a multitude of bubbles and a cornucopia of toys. Rubber ducks including a rather camp ‘Village Peoplesque’ one and a blue one which squirts water from its rubbery beak. The best of the many, many toys is a book which, wait for it, contain yourself, has whale’s which change colour when subjected to warm water. The piece de resistance is the fact that it also squirted water. LP is totally amazed by this. OK, OK I was and continue to be totally amazed by this.

Picture the scene. Me and my daughter, bubbles, ducks, songs, fun and laughter and a book that changes colour and squirts water. Why then did I choose this very moment to reach over and grasp a bottle of Johnson and Johnson no more tears baby shampoo and take a swig of it.

At this very moment the conviviality of this scene was shattered as I established conclusively that obese men with sinister smiles are, in general, not to be trusted. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Doing Time (AKA Porridge)

 

Gentle reader, much has happened over the past few months and as the nights get shorter and the baby grows get longer  perhaps now is the time to take stock before we all stumble head on into Christmas with a slight detour at the end of October to dress LP up as a pumpkin…… or….. Bride of Chucky, the Jury is still out on which one she would be more suited to at present. Over the past weeks  LP has taken on somewhat pumpkinesque facial features due to a sudden bout of teething. As for the Chucky reference, yes it is a little cruel to describe our bonnie wee girl as a character from an 80’s horror movie however, if you were to deal with her code browns on a regular basis then you would come to the conclusion that there is something quite unwholesome underneath that toothy grin.

With the exception of code browns and sleeping, LP’s other major activity is eating. Things have changed in the household significantly in the past fortnight since LP now sits at the table in her Ikeaaaaaaaaa high hair and dines with YM and I. Her highchair came as a recommendation from a fellow survivor who advised that we get one as they are ‘bomb proof’. I realise that we have ‘been gean eh semi beh the cooncil’ (chortle) in the past month or so but I hardly need to be reassured that LP’s high chair will survive an explosion. I fear this advice may have been a covert attempt to cast aspersions on our present location or perhaps I took her advice a little too literally. One thing is for sure, Paradise by the dashboard lights by Meatloaf has been  slowly replaced by In the Ghetto accompanied by Elvis moves as LP’s an my favorite bath time song.

God bless you ma’am, thank you very much.

Anyway, as we gallop toward winter LP, YM and I can be found running about like maniacs at 7 in the morning as we all try to shower, dress and get ready for various appointments. YM and LP are now prominent members of the local Parent and Toddler Chapter. Paradoxically, as LP and YM ascend the ladder within their organisation less and less information trickles down to me. YM muttered something about a blood oath but to be honest I am too scared to inquire. There are some things I simply do not need to know.  What I do need to know is that I am instructed to provide cake and jam once a week and LP has to dress in gang colours which are apparently purple and bought at Baby Gap. Well that’s according to YM anyway.  I continue to work 5 day’s a week though in reality, by about 3 pm I am starting to slow up due to suffering from dehydration courtesy of  the coffee making ‘Mexican standoff” in the office.

I might bring in a flask next week.

Routines are apparently good for LP. We try to get her in bed by the same time every night and she invariably wakes up on queue at about 7 am. I am OK with 7 am during the week  as I have usually been awoken by the hound frantically licking her anal gland at about 6:45 am. During the week this is all fine however during the weekend I, for some strange reason, find I waken even earlier and then have to go through a complex risk assessment prior to taking action, or indeed inaction.

 

Option 1: Should I get up and try to get into my dressing gown without tripping up over the hound and, avoiding the creaking floorboards, make my way downstairs to make coffee, then, in reverse, make my way back to bed, via the bathroom and back to bed, to sip coffee and rejoice in the peace and quiet that surrounds me.

Option 2: Lay in bed and try not to think of the vital capacity of my bladder

Invariably option 1 wins for a few reasons.

1.        I feel I have won a slight  victory and have regained some control over my life as I am awake and still in bed. This is a highly unusual situation especially in the morning.  Of course despite this minor win I still operate on ‘silent running’ a philosophy I have picked up from watching too many reruns of The Hunt for Red October

 

Give me a ping, Vasili. One ping only, please...

 

2.       As the years on my odometer rack up I find a direct correlation to the shrinkage of my bladder, thus I am happy to have successfully had a pit stop and then revel in the irony of laying in bed at 5 pm with a cupful of diuretic coffee.

Time ticks by as I sip my coffee and, due to my gardening fetish, Google when the best time would be to plant black currant bushes, or as we call them Ribes nigrum. Invariably  7 am comes round way too soon and I find I am awoken by a dawn chorus of LP chattering away to herself accompanied by an LED display of flashing lights on her Motorola Baby Monitor.  LP has great conversations with herself and I daydream that she is giving a rousing speech to her fine collection of Build a Bear’s in order to get them to march en masse on YM and kick her arse out of bed to get LP up.

Alas this is simply a pipe dream (without the aid of narcotics) and I know  I will be forced to go and retrieve LP before she chew’s  her way through the high tensile steel bars of her cot. I know I make this sound like some really big hardship but, dear reader, I reality, it is anything but. As I go to lift LP out from her baby prison which masquerades as a cot,  I am greeted by LP’s big smiles and two sleepy wee eyes.  Depending on the amount of Haddock Mornay consumed the night before, a waft of code brown may sightly detract from this wholesome picture.

Anyway…. LP is not one for breakfast. We have tried the lot. Flakes, baby porridge of various flavors, rusks, toast, waffles, fruit and one one occasion a potato croquette (long story). Alas LP will invariable settle for a sippy cup of full fat coo juice and a nibble of the corner of a Book Bug Book…….. until this week. Monday saw somewhat of of an epiphany in the household as we cottoned on to the fact that LP wants to eat whatever we are eating. This has been demonstrated over the past few weeks at tea time where LP has been known to have the odd meltdown when YM has refused to give up the last piece of garlic bread. 7. 22 am was the exact time of the turning point in our lives. At this moment LP became transfixed by the steaming Winnie the Pooh bowl full of porridge I was hurrriedly eating before nashing off to do good work in the community. LP gaze fixed on the bowl as she crawled over and hauled herself up to lean nonchalantly on my knee. Her wee head tilted upwards as she looked longingly at the spoon which was now diverted from my mouth towards LP.

LP spoke her first words.......

Nom, Nom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

First words and more

And so to consider the many, many things I have learned this week...

1. Much excitement in the household as LP reportedly said her first proper word, that is if one chooses not to consider "fub" and "da" as actual words. Well as you know my money, well what I have left after having been bled dry by LP and her insatiable appetite for Eeyore baby grows, was on "dog" or perhaps "dad" being LP's first words. Great sadness befell me as apparently, or should I say allegedly, "mummy" was uttered by LP. This was further corroborated by our niece, who, with the absence of  Sodium Pentothal, I shall have to believe. I do hope LP's first sentence will be "Cousin Vicky's a wee fibber".

I'm not bitter though.

2. YM and LP attended their first Mother and Toddler Group this week. YM reported that she was chastised for referring to the group thus and not "Parent and Toddler" which attempts, but does not succeed, in portraying a more inclusive environment. Anyway YM and LP were made most welcome to the Chapter. YM advised that LP had "been a wee rascal" (I am sure that's what she meant) and chucked baby porridge on YM's jeans which went unnoticed until LP was chauffeured to the group. YM and LP were greeted by the Chapter Leader who was of course immaculate in a Mumsie kind of way. YM who was by now a tad frazzled and oat encrusted reported that she cursed the Mumsie leader and her spawn under her breath. By this time the baby porridge had semi hardened to resemble weeping pustules. Not the kind of look which ingratiates one to the other Chapter members. LP had a blast though and after a quick pit stop to fill up on Petits Filous and a change of a union jack team GB pampers nappy (on offer in ASDA), LP resembled a VERY young Gerri Halawell. Despite a few initial hiccups YM and LP will return again although Boogie Babies are trying to sway YM's resolve with the offer of "yummy tray bakes".

3. There are things you should not Google and then there are things you really should not Google. Sometimes when you Google stuff it is interesting to see how quickly Google fills in the search term for you.

Try typing in the phrase "baby poo".

This week LP has produced a few 'interesting' code brown's so, rather than just idly talk about it, though some might say I usually do, investigation was called for. Not only is there a handy description on
www.babycentre.co.uk/a551926/your-babys-poo-whats-normal-and-whats-not but, to my horror, pictures too. I have decided that all baby poo looks like Dahl and therefore I won't let a single dahl laden papadum pass these lips ever again.
May I suggest the next time you think about placing an order at your local takeaway you give due consideration to your choice of side dish.

4. Stealth baby puke is the work of Beelzebub himself. Picture the scene gentle reader.. Wednesday morning at about 7.40. LP has had her breakfast and her 3 "Chucky" teeth have been cleaned. It's time for a wee bit of daddy and daughter time before I toddle off to earn a crust. As daddy's job has no dress code, he wears his usual work uniform of jeans, casual shoes and a shirt and jacket. Suddenly daddy looks down and feels moisture seeping through his shirt. His first reaction is that there has been a ninja 'drive by' then the reality hits home. On this sad day I became another victim of stealth baby puke.
It has to be acknowledged that I own a lot of shirts (47 last time I counted. I suspect it will be a long time before I am able to undertake a shirt inventory). Having always resisted "non-iron" shirts believing that ironing a shirt every morning was a homage to White Stuff, my preferred purveyor of shirt's, I was overjoyed to find a crease free shirt hanging in my wardrobe. I'm sure my colleagues were glad too as YM's advise was simply to "give it a quick sponge and put on some deodorant!".

5. Baby things. Everywhere I go I see bright coloured baby things. Some of them are useful. Spoons are useful but spoons which are shared like WW2 Meshersmitts are less useful. Blankets are useful but not when they fall under the wheels of a stroller and get caught up in the over complicated breaking mechanism. The most useless baby thing I have come across this week is a penguin that blows bubbles. A penguin which slides down icebergs I could understand but one which sticks (apparently) to the bathroom wall and blows bubbles, Tis a freak of nature although one which I would happily put up with if it actually produced a steady stream of bubbles to keep LP amused as YM attempted to make the sound of a slug which old McDonald has on his farm (I am now having fun by throwing curve balls to keep YM on her toes during  Old McD renditions). In truth Bubble blowing Penguin is as effective as an alpine horn player with emphysema.

6. Being older parents has presented us with a few concerns most of which were vanity based and to do with being thought of as grandparents to LP when she goes to School. Despite this wee concern we are also content in the knowledge that LP will graduate from Medical School and become an eminent Geriatritian thus being able to afford YM and I the best possible care in our twilight years...well that's the plan anyway.

Survival Kit

10.00 pm and tucked up in bed! EVERY day is a learning day...
1. Do not on any account make eye contact with a baby when they wake up in the middle of the night! It's like Amphetamine to them. Just say nooo! Simply soothe them and pop the little angel horizontal, tiptoe backwards out of the room and hope you get another half hour kip.
2. In a similar vein go to sleep not anticipating getting wok...en up. I did the opposite for a couple of weeks and felt the unholy consequences of sleep depravation.
3. Baby monitors allow for some weekend shenanigans. Sneak into LP's bedroom. Make Farting sound. Await YM dashing to LP's aid with industrial strength nappies, gauntlets and coal tongs in anticipation of a code brown.
4. Be 'really crap' at changing/dressing/feeding LP for 5 out of 7 days. This allows for 2 days to feel useful and slightly smug whilst avoiding most of the tasks which involve either 'business end'. Conversely it also allows YM to feel really proud and able to show of her natural ability to do everything and more for YM.
5. Despite my fraudulent claim of kackhandedness YM and I do decide some tasks based on ability. I remain in charge of cuisine whilst YM deals with couture. Now that LP is all but off manufactured baby food a whole new world of colour is open to her as jars of baby food seem to stain everything florescent orange. Therefore cuisine and couture share a somewhat symbiotic relationship.
6. Who would have thought that dummies come in different sizes. It's difficult not to compare and contrast however I should warn against doing so in the baby isle of ASDA.
7. There should be a mathematical formula to measure the disproportionate relationship between ironing baby clothes, the size of baby clothes and how long they will stay clean, pressed or indeed in fashion. I know this as I spent 20 mins ironing a dress for LP's evening engagement this weekend only to be informed by YM that the dress was too 'summerie'.
8. My technique for fastening baby grow related press studs is thus: attach YM's iPhone to the dog. 2 chuck tennis ball for the dog to fetch. 3. When dog, iPhone and tennis ball go in one direction LP will follow. At this exact moment grab both sets of press studs, stretch baby grow over LP and fasten . Voila!
9. I am still working on ways of doing this in reverse rather than simply singing "hands up, baby hands up, give me your love, gimme your love babe etc" by Ottawan. lets face it I'm just showing my age.