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.......
Nom, Nom.
No comments:
Post a Comment