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.

The facebook post that heralded the start of the story

You wait your whole life for one single moment, then suddenly it's today.

Things i really should have learned

Things I have learned this week...
1. Sleep is not a right!
2. It is no longer a necessity to iron clothes nor will YM castigate me for not.
3. It is accessible to wear clothes covered in snot and or food.
4. It is accepted to visit friends' houses and ask for a coffee or beg a full meal
5. Popper....WTF! Two is way to few but 12 is overkill.
6. When I get dressed I follow the label to the back rule. When I attempt to dress someone else I find no labels! C'mon people! ! No one has prepared me for this!!
7. Teats on bottles. Is it right for me to be that impressed? 

Jings crivins help ma boab

Ah, sitting down waiting for dinner to cook....

Things I have learned this week
1. Heat is not my friend anymore. It makes wee people and big people grumpy and deprives everyone of the elixir of life (AKA sleep).
2. Morning smiles reverse, all be it temporary, the negative effect of sleep depravation.
3. Milk teeth pack a punch. Do not be fooled people. If you are considering applying Bonjela to milk teeth may I suggest using a gauntlet.
4. How come Actimil dissolves really easily and doesn't increase the volume. Now I'm no physicist but...
5. Code brown's are something to be shared. Only this evening YM was heard to comment "jings, crivins, help ma boab! Would you take a look at that!!".
6. I can go for family walks and sing out load and simply attract adoring smiles. Actually they may have been sympathetic smiles towards my companions. Sympathy smiles are fine by me. Like sympathy sex. Is there any other kind?
7. We are not impotent. 'The shiny', to see ones reflection, is important (a 'shiny' is anything which is expensive and reflective i.e. an iphone
8. Joy is contagious. It should be shared. There is enough unhappiness going round.
9. Phones should be on mute by 7pm and the adults in the household must draw up a roster to manage the land line and be responsible for not allowing it to ring more than once.
10. It really is the simple things in life.....

Family Jewels

Well this week is much like last week...the learning just keeps on keeping on..
I suppose most of the ground work has happened. Little person gets up about 06.30, enjoys a really good dump then takes a light breakfast of Actimil followed by porridge and then fruit of the day. A period of frantic play ensues leading to a 'Nana Nap'. This is pretty much repeated throughout the day until its rubber ...duck time and a wee rub down with a damp chamois and then into the arms of sweet Morphious.

Despite this relatively organized and tranquil lifestyle the same small person finds the time to rain terror and chaos on the other, not so little inhabitants of the household causing every room (save for her own, I might add) to be rendered to a state of complete disarray. Child friendly toys become obstacles for adults and dogs to negotiate. Why are these weapons of mass destruction classified as safe for little people? I for one would rather take my chances with unpasteurised blue cheese.

Walking, sorry, hobbling from one end of the living room to the other is fraught with other dangers too.
Child gates (with audible click locks as recommended by a fellow survivor) are poised to castrate as the lock pin is set to scrotum height. Toys with motion sensors that wake up if you are unfortunate enough to brush past as you trip over a play mat or make contact with a singing kettle (the only toy name which actually hints at the dangers therein). It's like living in an oversized game of Operation. Bzzzzzzzz you are now sporting on less toenail. Bzzzzzzzzz you will never play the piano again. Bzzzzzzzz yup there goes the family jewels.

That said, Big people can always get their own back. We are presently capitalizing on a number of items which we lovingly call "baby prison". Ever wondered why Mothercare and Baby R Us are full of fold down travel cots? It's not because parents are happy to lug about 10.5 kg of tubular steel and ripstop nylon. It's not because parents want to exhaust their baggage allowance with Easyjet all in one go. It's not because they have a fear of precious little people finding untold bacterium to secret in untold orifices in the hotel supplied children's cot beds. Lets face it, holidays are a thing of the past anyway unless you are willing to sell a kidney, which I no longer have to spare as I lost it on the baby gate whilst bending down to attempt to retrieve a stray testicle. The REAL reason people buy travel cots is to imprison their small person. Oops, I meant to say keep the little angel safe whilst those charged with their care try to undertake regular tasks like consuming coffee, maintaining personal hygiene and scrapping embedded semi pureed foodstuffs which defy description of the carpet.

We like baby prison. We have a few. A Disney Bouncing one, the travel cot (yeh "travel" ha ha...you ain't gonna be going anywhere babe!!) and the vibrating, reclining one favored by the lady of the house (YM). Little person likes the bouncy one. The travel cot isn't without charm either. It's a joy to watch her little face as she hunkers down in the corner with her miniature baseball mitt unsuccessfully playing catch a la Steve McQueen in The Great Escape. I want to say it''s a good skill for her to master but really its one-upmanship and the only way I can kinda get back at LP for rejecting and in many respects ejecting my Haddock Mornay with Crushed New Potatoes....

 

 

The moral of the story: Respect the Chef

DD and the Little Person: Magazine article (Published October 2013)

DD and the Little Person: Magazine article (Published October 2013): AFTER the arrival of his nine-month-old daughter John wanted to share his news with his friends over the internet – unable to share phot...

Magazine article (Published October 2013)

AFTER the arrival of his nine-month-old daughter John wanted to share his news with his friends over the internet – unable to share photos he began writing about his and his wife’s experiences as new parents. Here is a sample of what’s been happening.

 

Monday

 

Well this week is much like last week...the learning just keeps on keeping on.
I suppose most of the groundwork has happened. Little Person (LP) gets up about 6.30am, enjoys some time on the toilet then takes a light breakfast of Actimil followed by porridge and then fruit of the day.

A period of frantic play ensues leading to a 'Nana Nap'. This is pretty much repeated throughout the day until its rubber duck play time in the bath.

duck time and a wee rub down with a damp chamois and then into the arms of sweet Morphious.

Despite this relatively organized and tranquil lifestyle the same small person finds the time to rain terror and chaos on the other, not so little inhabitants of the household causing every room (save for her own, I might add) to be rendered to a state of complete disarray. Child friendly toys become obstacles for adults and dogs to negotiate. Why are these weapons of mass destruction classified as safe for little people
Walking, sorry, hobbling from one end of the living room to the other is fraught with other dangers too.
Child gates (with audible click locks as recommended by a fellow survivor) are poised to castrate as the lock pin is set to scrotum height. Toys with motion sensors that wake up if you are unfortunate enough to brush past as you trip over a play mat or make contact with a singing kettle (the only toy name which actually hints at the dangers therein). It's like living in an oversized game of Operation. Bzzzzzzzz you are now sporting on less toenail. Bzzzzzzzzz you will never play the piano again. Bzzzzzzzz yup there goes the family jewels.

That said, Big people can always get their own back. We are presently capitalizing on a number of items which we lovingly call "baby prison". Ever wondered why Mothercare and Baby R Us are full of fold down travel cots? It's not because parents are happy to lug about 10.5 kg of tubular steel and ripstop nylon. It's not because parents want to exhaust their baggage allowance with Easyjet all in one go. It's not because they have a fear of precious little people finding untold bacterium to secret in untold orifices in the hotel supplied children's cot beds. Lets face it, holidays are a thing of the past anyway unless you are willing to sell a kidney, which I no longer have to spare as I lost it on the baby gate whilst bending down to attempt to retrieve a stray testicle. The REAL reason people buy travel cot is to imprison their small person. Oops, I meant to say keep the little angel safe whilst those charged with their care try to undertake regular tasks like consuming coffee, maintaining personal hygiene and scrapping embedded semi pureed foodstuffs which defy description off the carpet.

We like baby prison. We have a few. A Disney Bouncing one, the travel cot (yeah "travel" ha ha...you are not going to be going anywhere bye-bye!!) and the vibrating, reclining one favored by the lady of the house (YM). Little person likes the bouncy one. The travel cot isn't without charm either. It's a joy to watch her little face as she hunkers down in the corner with her miniature baseball mitt unsuccessfully playing catch a la Steve McQueen in The Great Escape. I want to say it's a good skill for her to master but really its one-upmanship and the only way I can kinda get back at LP for rejecting and in many respects ejecting my Haddock Mornay with Crushed New Potatoes. The lesson of the day is that you don't mess with the Chef.

 

 

 

Tuesday

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 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 a lie detector, I shall have to believe. I do hope LP's fist sentence will be ‘Cousin Vicky’s a wee fibber’. I'm not bitter though.

 

Wednesday

Yummy Mummy (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 the baby porridge was now 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 Team GB Pampers nappy (on offer in ASDA), LP resembled a VERY young Gerri Haliwell. Despite a few initial hiccups, YM and LP will return although Boogie Babies is trying to sway YM's resolve with the offer of ‘yummy traybakes’.

Thursday

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’ efforts, 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. 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.

Friday

 

We are currently capitalising on a number of items, which we lovingly call ‘baby prison’. Ever wondered why Mothercare and Babies R Us are full of fold down travel cots? It’s not because parents are happy to lug about 10.5 kg of tubular steel and ripstop nylon. It’s not because parents want to exhaust their baggage allowance with Easyjet all in one go. Let’s face it, holidays are a thing of the past anyway unless you are willing to sell a kidney, which I no longed have to spare as I lost it on the baby gate.

The REAL reason people buy travel cots is to imprison their small person. Oops, I meant to say keep the little angel safe whilst those charged with their care try to undertake regular tasks like consuming coffee, maintaining personal hygiene and scrapping embedded semi pureed foodstuffs, which defy description of the carpet.
We like baby prison. We have a few. A Disney bouncing one, the travel cot and the vibrating, reclining one favoured by YM. Little person likes the bouncy one. The travel cot isn't without charm either. It’s a joy to watch her little face as she hunkers down in the corner with her miniature baseball mitt unsuccessfully playing catch a la Steve McQueen in The Great Escape. I want to say it’s a good skill for her to master but really its one-upmanship and the only way I can get back at LP for rejecting and in many respects ejecting my Haddock Mornay with Crushed New Potatoes. The lesson of the day is that you don't mess with the Chef.

 

 

Saturday

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 geriatrician thus being able to afford YM and I the best possible care in our twilight years...well that’s the plan anyway.
But with age comes great wisdom! Here are some of the tips we have gathered along the way I’d like to share with you.

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’s kip.
2. Baby monitors allow for some weekend shenanigans. Sneak into LP's bedroom. Blow a raspberry. Await YM dashing to LP's aid with industrial strength nappies, gauntlets and coal tongs in anticipation of a code brown.
3. Be 'really bad' at changing/dressing/feeding LP for five out of seven days. This allows for two 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.

4. Despite my fraudulent claim of kackhandedness YM and I do divide 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.
5. Who would have thought that dummies come in different sizes. Its difficult not to compare and contrast, however I should warn against doing so in the baby isle of ASDA.
6. 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 minutes ironing a dress for LP's evening engagement this weekend only to be informed by YM that the dress was too 'summery'.
7. My technique for fastening baby grow related press studs is thus: attach YM's iphone to the dog. 2. Chuck tennis ball for 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!
8. 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. Let’s face it I'm just showing my age.

 

Sunday

 

Important things that I have learned this week....really, really important things like....
1. If you squish a rubber duck on the bottom of a bath it will stick for a wee while and then pop up randomly.
2. Baby prison can be easily downgraded from category A to category C with the addition of a few hundred balls.
3. I have not yet acquired the skills to change nappies in the complex and indeed compact environment of a caravan.

4. Getting waved at for the first time by LP as I leave for work irritates my eyes.
5. Putting toys away at night is about as futile as wearing a clean t-shirt these days.
6. Nappy rash happens when little people are teething. This is something that anxious parents need to know. Of course I Googled the physiological reason for this but I remain disappointed that Wiki-How does not have a section on this very subject.
7. The analogy of 'family car' is purely a marketing ploy. Two adults, LP, the hound, buggy, Go Bag etc. makes an A Team transit van feel like a fiat 500...I should imagine.
8. Making food for LP is great. It encourages me to experiment and really consider how to season food without relying on salt and making things seem sweeter without adding sugar. Interesting stuff. The other aspect of this is presentation, which is fun for all.
9. YM can sing the female vocal for paradise by the dashboard light. A popular tune at bath time. Whilst on the subject of bath time songs. YM and I need to purchase some more animals as Old McDonald Had a Farm is getting rather limited.
10. LP cuddling into my chest is a wonderful experience...until I realise she just wants to rub her runny nose on me.

Despite this relatively organised and tranquil lifestyle the same small person finds the time to reign terror and chaos on the other, not so little inhabitants of the household causing every room (save for her own, I might add) to be rendered to a state of complete disarray. Child friendly toys become obstacles for adults and dogs to negotiate. Why are these weapons of mass destruction classified as safe for little people? I for one would rather take my chances with unpasteurised blue cheese.
Walking, sorry, hobbling from one end of the living room to the other is fraught with other dangers too.
Child gates (with audible click locks as recommended by a fellow survivor) are poised to castrate as the lock pin is set to scrotum height. Toys with motion sensors that wake up if you are unfortunate enough to brush past as you trip over a play mat or make contact with a singing kettle (the only toy name that actually hints at the dangers therein). It is like living in an oversized game of Operation. Bzzzzzzzz you are now sporting one less toenail. Bzzzzzzzzz you will never play the piano again. Bzzzzzzzz, yup there go the family jewels!

 

That's when ye ken

“Yer no fit to wear eh t-shurt wi meh Initials oan it” barked Poly Patsy Tantrum (the name has been changed to protect the guilty) as I recoiled in fear from her sudden verbal onslaught. According to the shadow cast by the quiff of her platinum hair it was 08:45 on a Saturday morning and YM, LP and I were engrossed in exercise. When I say LP and YM, I actually mean me. YM and LP took the opportunity to go for a long morning constitutional whilst Daddy played Russian Roulette with his cardiovascular system. If you are thinking of a career in Nursing please be aware that it does not come without consequence. Nursing brings with it a certain level of paranoia. Therefore a belated return to exercise after a few months of intensive parenting, combined with scoring half of LP’s breakfast 20 minutes before Bootcamp lead me to believe that I may have had Angina, well at least in my paranoid and over anxious mind.  Clearly the Camp Commandant knew better as she forced me to do 16 more Burpies whilst I considered whom to bequeath my half set of EPNS cutlery, which I had liberated piece by piece from a hotel I worked in during the 80’s, to. Apparently there was a reason for the figure 16, although I considered it was most likely part of the Commandant’s satanic ritual and decided that it would be important to shield LP from her gaze.

Anyways… LP is a people person. She knows YM and I are mummy and daddy but she is happy to play ‘pass the parcel’ as long as we are near. Therefore Saturday morning saw LP surrounded by various people with their nicknames or initials emblazoned on the back of their T-Shirts. A fare few were positively resplendent in Lycra and, it should also be noted that some reeked of stale booze presumably after a hard session the night before.  LP took this all in her stride and loved the attention given to her, gurgling at appropriate times as she displayed her Chucky teeth. The session had only just commenced and I was already starting to tire. YM and LP went off for a wee walk round the maximum security perimeter fence, whilst I struggled to remain conscious. Off in the distance, clearly attempting to run away, I could see one of my fellow hostages distinguished by the initials F.C on the back of a t-shirt. I feared I must have been near to passing out as I saw multiple K.M’s too. On closer inspection F.C was actually sprinting towards the multiple KM’s in the distance in an attempt to stop their imminent escape. Clearly F.C had succumbed to Stockholm syndrome and I pitied the poor Psychologist who would have to deal with that particular can of worms. I thought about running too, but I simply did not have the energy to do so. Poly didn’t really approve of running anyway as it was deemed to be slower than a sprint. If sprinting was not the order of the day, side stepping became her modus operandi, an impossible task as I had chosen to wear lycra which, when deployed in a pincer motion of the side step caused waves of pain as various items of my nether regions became entrapped, much to the amusement of Poly.

Poly was relentless. Her Platinum Quiff positively shook as she barked her commands. “Hud that Plank” Poly shouted as G.M struggled under the weight of the tree trunk. G.M wished he had decided not to take a break from his career as a wedding planner and attend Bootcamp this morning.

At this point I felt I was fading away. Two or so months of little exercise have rendered me a wheezing wreck. In the distance I could see YM and LP walking toward me. I quickly glanced round to check to see if Poly was scowling in my direction. I took the chance and looked toward LP and YM and waved. Suddenly I felt a wave of energy and a feeling of pride and completeness as my family walked towards me.

Gentle reader… That’s when ye ken.

You lot (You know who you are) have been part of all our lives for a wee while now and therefore are all part of the story. With my best Leonard Rossiter voice on “I wouldn’t be where I am today without you all”.