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 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.......