A Game of Two Halves

Are you on holiday? No? Oh well it must be me. So whilst on my holiwobbles I took the opportunity to accompany LP and YM to two Parent and Toddler Chapters. You might imagine, gentle reader that these would be two relatively innocuous events in the life of LP, YM and I and that we simply would X Factor ‘journey’ through these events unscathed.  You would be wrong.

Before I commence I would like to offer a word of caution: All of the events depicted are trueish, however all characters appearing in this work are fictitiousish. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidentalish.

By way of comparing and contrasting I took the opportunity to visit Chapters in the Oriental and the Occidental areas of the City, the latter necessitating a humongous journey on public transport due to some unpleasantness which we will not speak of again. This made the return leg home somewhat uncomfortable thanks to the diuretic effect of 2 mugs of ‘posh’ coffee and several ‘earworm’ lullabies which, despite all attempts to eliminate remain imbedded. With regard to ‘earworms’, I really do blame myself. I shot myself in the foot shortly after LP was delivered by the Stork. With good intention I obtained 2 Gigabytes of ‘Rockabye Babe’ MP3’s. For the uninitiated, these are pop and rock songs redone as lullabies. Popular groups favoured by YM’s and DD’s are the likes of Nirvana, Red Hot Chilli Peppers and Metallica. Although sadly (!) and much to YM’s distress Donny Osmond does not feature. After initially thinking that this was a good idea and that I would be one cool parent, I quickly came to the conclusion that this was not as clever as I first thought. Closer by Nine Inch Nails really pushes the boundaries of acceptability in the civilised world but the reality is even worse when it is transposed into glockenspiel. Further to this, whatever song I now here becomes a lullaby in my head and therefore the earworm remains forever floating in my consciousness.  So it’s a big thank you to the good people at Rockabye Baby for ruining my love of music. Do not go anywhere near Counting Crow’s. Do I make myself clear? (Though do feel free to do as you please with Donny).

Monday morning saw LP, YM and I wrapped up to face the elements and head off to the local Chapter House for the first meeting of the week. The parent and toddler group was held at 09:00, sandwiched in between an Insomniacs Anonymous meeting and a Badminton for the over 70’s group.   I have to confess a sense of foreboding as we walked through a rather drab 1970’s concrete scheme towards the Community Centre. As we headed to the entrance door a sign painted in bold lettering on a garage read “No Skateboarding/Roller Skating. This only added to the sense of decay. Not of the environment though, of me. Having been born early enough to remember the first wave of Skateboarding and Roller Skates, the kind that was tied onto ones shoes, cos, well, that was the way we rolled back in the day, I pondered whether or not I was too old to be a daddy to LP. Thoughts of this nature periodically permeate my usually sunny disposition and are fleeting and easily dismissed by a smiling LP. On this occasion LP beamed up at YM and I through the plastic of her buggies rain cover which was a little too close to her face for my liking as, in my hurry to protect LP from the elements, I  had omitted  to put the hood up and simply placed the rain cover on top of a flat buggy. LP looked like a chrysalis making attempts to break out of a cocoon. Shame really.

We were greeted at the door by the Chapter Leader. At this point I really should attempt to give her a name however, I find, when faced with more than 2 new faces I am unable to remember any of their names. In future I would be safer not to leave the house without a role of sticky labels and a turquoise Sharpie. In this instance the Chapter Leader made life a little easier for me it was clear that she had been assisted by her cellmate to tattoo her name on her knuckles. So ACAB HATE kindly gave us a warm welcome at the security hatch and quickly undid the many Yale locks and dead bolts to let us in. LP looked relieved to be inside out of the rain. YM busied herself removing the rain cover from LP’s buggy. LP chuckled happily and quickly regained some colour in her cheeks. 

As the door was closed behind us LP, YM and I found ourselves in a cavernous hall with 8 or so toddlers and a corresponding amount of parents/carers. On initial inspection I was the only person in the hall, over the age of 4, to hold both X and Y chromosomes. I would have to say that, on leaving an hour later I was not entirely convinced this hypothesis was correct.

YM, who had become a Chapter member several weeks ago, introduced me to the other parents/carers. A few glanced up from there iPhone’s and fixed me with a steely gaze. “Can you give me some Candy Crush Lives” demanded one of the Chapter members.  I felt a tad guilty as I informed her that I didn’t partake. Clearly this met with disapproval as she threatened to “defriend” YM. Retribution is indeed swift within the Chapter walls.

Being a loaner around these parts may make for a good character in a spaghetti western however it is not to be recommended in the environment of the Chapter House. As LP crawled off to play with her new chums, one of which was attempting, with some success, to eat her own hand, I scanned the room and attempted to avoid making eye contact with the woman who was sitting alone in the corner rocking back and forth. With some relief one of the Chapter Members advised that she was simply trying to dry her jeans after getting caught in the rain. I decided to avoid her anyway.  I attempted, by way of distraction, to play with LP who was deeply engrossed in conversation with the wee girl who continued to attempt to eat her hand. To be fare it wasn’t a great conversation but LP was clearly enjoying it as they jostled with each other to play with the only toy which wasn’t painted with Molybdate Red and had its full quota of wheels. LP was having a ball and clearly did not require YM or I to assist her. We withdrew to the side of the room and took part in general chit chat with the other Chapter members. I was, very kindly, offered a coffee and a garibaldi biscuit too. I gratefully accepted as it was only 9.15 am and this constituted as brunch since the hound had decided she wanted to go outside for a poo at 3am and YM woke me up when she let her out. As I took my seat at the main table with the other adults I casually said hi to a woman sitting making roll ups.  For some inexplicable reason, within about 2 minutes, she had advised me that she was employed “all over Scotland” as a slaughter man. I probably mean slaughter person but no matter which way I say it still sounds wrong. This conversation came to a head when we agreed to differ on the best way to remove hair from a, most probably gratefully, dead pig.

Thankfully we were asked by the Chapter Leader to collect our own children and bring them to the table for breakfast (Yes, I shuddered too). YM and I quickly scanned the room for LP who had by now moved on from fist in mouth toddler to snot in hair baby. Breakfast was served directly onto high chair tables. LP looked at the margarine coated waffle with some trepidation but then threw caution to the wind and tentatively gummed a corner. I think LP is trying to save her 5 or so teeth for something special as she seems to dislike using them for the purpose with which they were intended, unless of course that purpose is to bite my ear when she is in her baby rucksack.

After breakfast LP and I settled down to another 15 or so minutes of play. Some of the other children were having their nappies changed by now, however since YM had invested in Purple Pampers there would be no leakage of bodily fluids.

LP reached into a rather dilapidated Esso Service Station toy and pulled out….wait for it……wait for it….the best toy in the history of toys! An Evil Knievel Stunt Bike! Imagine LP’s pure excitement as she popped Evil’s head into her mouth and used it as a teething ring. Was I wrong to prize Evil’s soggy head out of my daughter’s mouth and Line him up for one last run.  As I clipped Evil into his windie up thingie and wound the wee white handle to power up his motor bike I was 6 years old again laying on my grannies carpet watching Evil Knievel zoom across the carpet and hopefully pop a wheelie. Happy Days.

 

The end of the week say YM and I alight a bus after a rather fraught 45 minute journey and follow the other buggies, pied piper style, toward a small Church hall.  We were running late and when we arrived the street was full to overflowing with Bugaboo buggies. The Duchess of Cambridge has a lot to answer for. Her wee Doad would have been just fine in an Oyster Buggy like LP’s. We quickly parked up and scooped LP, who was dressed casually in her best John Rocha outfit, out of her Oyster and took her inside. We were greeted at the door by the Chapter Leader. Not a sign of a Jail tattoo on this one though as she clipped her radio mic into the wasteland of her mummy jeans. Immaculate in her fitted tee shirt and jeans ensemble complete with bonny and functional red Flossy’s, the Chapter Leader warmly welcomed us and, with a Matron like tone, ushered us into the hall which was filled to capacity with ruddy faced children dressed in Fat Face kid’s clothes. YM, who, as we have established knows a thing or two about children’s clothing, suggested somewhat uncharitably, that there may have been a recent smash and grab in Smarty Pants, the children’s Boutique just up the road.

There was another man present. I watched as he clutched his wee daughter to him and attempted not to make eye contact with the real housewives of Brought Ferry. I realised then and there that I would have to copy this fellow survivor if I was to survive.

LP was ready to play and busied herself stealing beanbags from the other children. In many respects she takes after YM who, last time she attended a Donny Osmond Concert, became jealous of the various merchandise which others around her had bought. YM then decided she would simply purchase ALL the merchandise from the vendor. At least that was how it felt to me.  LP had amassed a fine collection of bean bags which stopped many of the other children participating in the first song which required beanbags for some reason which I still remain unsure of. This behaviour caused YM and I to be on the receiving end of a Paddington Bear Stare and a lecture for LP on the value of sharing. LP took this all in her stride and simply attempted to further enhance her collection of beanbags.

The Chapter Leader was, by now, in full swing. So much was her enthusiasm that her radio mic became dislodged in mid song. This rather made a mockery of her choreographed moves and did not in any way add to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Finally I understood what it was like to be a One Direction Fan as the Chapter Leader whipped the audience up into a frenzy………only to announce that it was time for the children to have a snack and the parents/carers to have a coffee and ‘tray bake’.

On turning round to look for waffles and margarine I was taken by the vision that was before me. Trestle tables had been set out by the Chapter Leaders flunkies, I would assume. These tables, covered in the finest Damask Linen, were laden with a cornucopia of canapés and sweetmeats. LP was incontinent with excitement as she stated wide eyed at the variety of food sourced from the 4 corners of Marks and Spencer Simply Food. YM jostled her way to the front of the queue and proceeded to hold LP’s bowl ‘Oliver Twist style’ as one of the flunkies used EPNS tongs to take guacamole coated poppy seed focaccia and puffed rice crackers glistening with grains of the finest lump fish caviar. All of this was lost to me for I had my eyes on a far greater prize. To the left of me was a table festooned with French Press Coffee Pots and Bone China Cake Stands filled to overflowing with ‘tray brakes’. What most impressed me was Pecan Nuts. I had no idea that they were supposed to look like a slice of brain. I have only ever dared to whisper their name in reverence and occasionally put chopped ‘shop damaged’ pecan’s in my cakes.  Having taken some tips form YM, shouldered my way to the front of the line and inhaled deeply as my olfactory system was thoroughly stimulated by the aroma of fresh Coffee.

Kopi Luwak I presume.

 

LP loves going to Parent and Toddler Groups with YM and sometimes me too. For that matter I really enjoyed singing songs and playing with our daughter. Both groups were great in their own way….but only one of them had an Evil Knievel Stunt Bike.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Party dresses and party cups

Hello Party People!

The planning, the shopping, the cooking, the paparazzi, the assembly of push along tricycles by instinct and blind faith at 2 in the morning as the instructions were thrown out.  All this and more came together to make a memorable day for LP and cause YM and I to seriously consider therapy.

365 days of gurgling and smiling as well as periodic winging and producing the most unholy code browns has to be celebrated. Add to this the consumption of £560.00 worth of Actimel (Yes, I worked it out!) and about a squillion quid’s worth of baby wipes (No, I didn’t work it out!), if this morning’s effort was anything to go by. In the words of that sickeningly jovial 00’s group S Club 7 “There ain't no party like an LP party”. Or something like that anyway.

So YM and I were faced with the joy and inherent anxiety which goes with our LP’s first birthday party. Gentle reader, although this process was fraught with danger at every turn, YM and I are happy to inform you that we have all survived the experience relatively unscathed, however we have learned, and not for the first time, many, many lessons.

One thing is clear, there is a high degree of etiquette involved in these soiree’s. I had no idea of the do’s and don’ts of planning our daughter’s birthday party and how many people I would potentially offend or maim in the process. I am of the opinion that the sharing this information to fellow survivors is my civic duty however a part of me wants to keep it to myself  as I harbour much resentment against my so called friends who have previously arranged such parties and failed to share their wisdom with YM and I.

Clearly the plan to throw LP a house party was flawed from the outset. I remember the house parties from my ‘yoof’ with some anxiety.  The ingredients for a successful party were deceptively simple back in the day:

1.            Alcohol

2.            2 bags of Chessy Wotsits (This constituted the buffet)

3.            My ‘Lucky’ Pulling Shirt

4.            A Kitchen. This was to ‘hang out’ in and also, in many respects, to sadly prove that my ‘Lucky’ Pulling Shirt was in breach of the Trade Description Act.

Clearly, with this level of party planning experience, a few years down the line and in collaboration with YM, we found ourselves woefully unprepared for organising LP’s big day.

As you know, YM and I have shared some tasks out to make full use of our individual skills: Cuisine for me and Couture for YM. Although we consider ourselves to be quite skilled in these areas we found that, when combined with an offspring’s birthday party, any expertise which we once had was lost in an amnesic haze.

The panic set in for YM a few weeks previously when we received a text from a fellow survivor stating that her daughter would be wearing a Black and White Minnie Mouse dress to the party. This was the very moment when YM felt empathy with many a celebrity who was faced with a bonnie frock doppelganger at a red carpet function.  YM, who was struggling to speak through the brown paper bag she was now frantically breathing into, demanded that we cancel the party there and then and never to speak of it again. I like to think that in times of adversity I take a rather more pragmatic approach to adversity, thus, after YM struck some yoga poses, or as we like to say ‘Vogued’, in a further attempt to compose herself (although, to be clear, I have never found the ‘Downward Facing Dog’ particularly tasteful), I was sent on a ‘fishing expedition’ via text to ascertain if the chosen dresses were indeed the same.  I always find that text messaging is the best way to do these things. It puts distance between those concerned and does not allow for Paddington Bear stairs which I find particularly troublesome, having fallen victim to YM’s periodically over the course of our marriage.

You would think that etiquette would dictate that, as this was LP’s first birthday party, the offer would be made to LP to wear her chosen dress without fear of the embarrassment of another child wearing the same. Perhaps this would have been the case in the genteel and somewhat naïve world which LP and I inhabit, in the real world this was not the case. It was clear that, as the other child’s mother was a shit hot knitter, LP would potentially lose out on a cosy jumper or two therefore we (well I) decided that discretion was the better part of valour and offered, by text, to change LP’s choice of wardrobe for her party. I do believe that a moral victory was gained as we let it be known that LP has multiple dress options. YM was also of the opinion that in a “Square Go” she could take the other mother.

 

I like to think that I am no slouch in the kitchen. Indeed YM supports this notion when she reminds me, oft, of my inertia in other areas. The kitchen is indeed my ‘Happy Place’. Well it was my ‘Happy place’ until I realised that I have no experience in catering for a 1st Birthday party and not just any first birthday party, an LP first birthday party. Actually in hindsight it would have been easier to go to M and S and bought a whole load of nibbles to fire into an oven 10 minutes before our guests arrived. Alas this was not to be. Call it ego (though I would rather you didn’t), but I was of the opinion that I had to cook everything from scratch, although YM did rather make a mockery of this when she arrived back home after I had asked LP and her to go to Tesco to buy fresh Basil for my homemade Focaccia and some Jersey milk to be churned into refreshing ice cream to be served with the Bramble Jelly I had made. YM had decided to go of script and buy some cocktail sausages and mini Scotch eggs, neither of which I have ever been totally comfortable with. I don’t get Scotch Eggs at all. The only Scottish thing about them is they are fried. As for cocktail sausages, do they contain mint, lime, ice and a large quantity of white rum? No, I think not. Capisce?

So, armed with a tray of unwanted sausages and mini eggs, which I conveniently forgot about and left in the fridge rather than serve next to the Smoked Salmon on Sourdough Bread Open Sandwiches or the Wild Mushroom Risotto, I found that I had committed a major culinary fopaux. I had not catered for my audience. My audience was the LP’s who were there and I should have sought advice prior to preparing the menu.

As I have said before advice is not particularly forthcoming around the whole concept of birthday party planning thus I should have sought support from a higher power.

San Tzu’s The Art of War as studied by military strategists and leaders throughout the ages would have given me the appropriate advice: 故曰：知彼知己，百戰不殆；不知彼而知己，一勝一負；不知彼，不知己，每戰必殆. Or in English “Know your Enemy”. Clearly I would have been better prepared if I had followed this sage advice.  A rather more 20th Century approach would have been to check our Mumsnet and get some advice on how they dealt with their DD’s (Mumsnet term for LP) birthday parties. If only I had read this first “A rough rule of thumb oft-quoted on Mumsnet is to invite the same number of children as candles on the cake”. Clearly acting on this advice we would have made for a  rather boring party for LP, although YM could have had her “Square Go” with the other invitee’s mum and I wouldn’t have had to put up with the shame of not supplying ‘Party Bags’. The ‘Party Cups’ I hastily threw together were not up to much really.

Oh well, same time next year?

 

 

 

The 5 stages of...

Yet another week has passed and the dawning that life will never be the same resonates deep within YM and I.

To be fare Saturday Night fajita night may not, in the great scheme of things, be a great loss. In the same vein, sleeping until 8 am on the weekend, being able to allow more than one person to consume coffee in the presence of LP for fear that one, or both cups, will scald her and Sunday afternoon…. Um…. snuggles, may seem no great loss in place of the pleasure of the company of our little bundle of joy. Loss, none the less, requires some adjustment and the process of grief has to be undertaken somewhat akin to the ‘journey’ all X Factor contestants undertake. The Kubler-Ross Model indicates 5 stages….

Denial:

“It’ll be no problem keeping fit and we will both be able to attend Bootcamp and Kettlebells” said Wendy as LP was delivered by the Stork. Several weeks later and we have both found that eating regular meals and ironing clothes has gone south as has maintaining personal hygiene, housework and topiary. There is no time for Bootcamp. The closest we will ever get is removing footwear from LP mouth as she now attempts to use any object lying about as a teething ring. Kettlebells only serve to mock by reminding me of every lukewarm cup of coffee that I have gulped down in the past few months for fear that a marauding LP will snatch it from me and become even more active than she already is.

Anger: Gentle reader, I understand that you may find it difficult to believe that YM and I would ever utter a cross word towards each other. Clearly we are both well balanced individuals. If you don’t believe me, we have the assessment reports to prove it. So there!! However, from time to time we have been known to have an occasional disagreement which is usually resolved easily and with little acrimony by YM telling me to go away, or words to that effect and/or linking pinkies. The latter being my preferred method. Add our LP into the mix and what was the occasional letting off of steam takes on a whole new meaning.

Me: “I left some poppers open as it was warm and I didn’t want LP to overheat.

YM: Shite! You still can’t do them all up can you?

or

Me: Did you put some chopped fresh Strawberries in that Petits Filous?

YM: I’ll chop you, ya fud!

The good thing about the undercurrent of anger is it does allow for the kissing and making up process which is, or at least was, always fun. Alas Sunday afternoons are not taken up snuggling or treating Bee stings… which is another story for another time. Sunday afternoons are taken up by playing catch up on basic household chores or visiting elderly relatives and keeping LP’s hands away from cat litter, neither of which are as much fun as a triple x throw down.

Bargaining : “Can you just give LP her breakfast whilst I pop to the loo”, said YM today as she headed upstairs with a pristine copy of Take a Break, whilst thrusting a bowl of fruit porridge into my unsuspecting hands. Bargaining, like negotiation has never been one of YM’s strong points really. I suspect YM takes the opportunity to carry out her ablutions whilst considering her plans for herself and LP. What clubs to attend, where to do lunch, what country to invade, that sort of thing. Although it may be more realistic that YM simply wishes to maximize her bathroom time realising that this opportunity will be lost for the next 8 hours until I, once again, return home and assist as best I can with caring for LP.

 

Depression: The reaction to any given stressful situation may cause one's mood to dip. Add to this the major stresses of having an LP, moving house and feeling obliged to catch code brown’s in one’s hand rather than let them fall onto the carpet which you have just cleaned after the last sans nappy code brown incident. As YM stated “how can something so beautiful produce something so unholy?” Add to this and the lack of exercise, sleep and snuggles within the household and we are potentially sitting astride a powder keg of doom and despondency. All this would clearly overwhelm most people and it may well have taken its toll on YM and I save for two protective factors.

1.       Chocolate.

2.       LP smiles.

Both of which increases the uptake of serotonin and cause waves of joy and laughter. It is indeed the little things in life that make all the difference.

 

Acceptance: The final stage. The stage of understanding, realisation and perhaps, even the stage of total and utter capitulation.
Some years ago I saw a slogan on the back of a Punks leather jacket. “So many people can control the way you die but only you can control the way you live”. This, and a few other mottos have stood me in good stead for some time. Having an LP in our lives completely takes over what little control I had, or thought I had, in my life. This is no bad thing really. The realisation that nothing will ever be the same was daunting but now it seems quite fantastic. I do occasionally like to feel that I retain some control. This usually takes the form of ‘scoring’ one  of LP’s Petits Filous . YM and I waited for LP to come along for a long time. The daydreams and fantasy of what parenthood might hold have proven to be just that. The reality is even more amazing. It’s about seeing the little things, the funny things, the almost words, the almost steps, the smiles. Yes, the smiles.

J

Moving wardrobes

Things I have learned or should have learned in the past week….or so.

Faithful reader if you have been holding your breath for the past week waiting to hear about LP’s shenanigans then you are now a flesh eating Zombie. Anyways much learning has taken place my Zombie Overlord.

I have read somewhere that moving is rated as one of the most stressful things to do. I am here to tell you that moving with LP is THE most stressful thing to do ever in the history of stressful things involving moving. I have returned to work this week and I swear if someone asks me once more if I have enjoyed my holidays I will give them a Paddington Bear stare. I would rather be caught in flagrante delecto with a cactus than move house ever, ever again. Possibly the only good thing about this sorry episode is the opportunity to post on Facebook that a lady from the “Cooncil” gave me a semi. This is and shall always remain a favourite joke and indeed chat up line of mine.

Poor LP, she wasn’t able to access her full range of clothes and accessories for a week as the chaps from the removal firm decided that LP’s lovely Ikeaaaaaaaaaaa wardrobes looked like cardboard boxes and removed them on Tuesday. Tuesday would have been ordinarily fine but this Tuesday was the day that all our boxes were flung onto the back of a skip (dramatization: these events may not have occurred) and taken to our new home. The major problem being that all of LP’s fabulous clothes and the odd carrot stained baby grow were all in the wardrobes having been alphabetized by YM prior to moving. The removal chaps put LP’s couture in a bedroom of our new home then decided to pile boxes up and round the wardrobes clearly in an attempt to cover up their shame at not being able to distinguish an ikeaaaaaaaaaaa wardrobe from a cardboard box. Sadly I have to acknowledge that I did play a part in this debacle. After posting a, slightly belated APB to Facebook, requesting assistance from my legions of Facebook friends to help ‘Amish Style’ in forming a human chain to carry boxes (but not ikeaaaaaaaaa wardrobes) to the waiting removal van, the response to my request would best be described as quality not quantity, a concept which YM says she has experienced throughout our married life. My friends H and G kindly took up the opportunity to have their karma restored.  G remarked that he was keen to help as ‘[he] likes to lift heavy things’. Kudos to G as he managed to smile through the pain of bilateral inguinal hernias caused when he swung YM’s collection of Donny Osmond Memorabilia onto his shoulder. I should have stood firm to my plans and insisted that the human chain, which was missing some links, was still a practical solution to move the boxes down 70 steps. Alas I was undermined by the removal chaps, who relied on brawn rather than brain to get the job done.

So…. LP’s wardrobes, travel luggage, baby prison and favourite leapfrog activity centre had disappeared behind a room full of boxes which greeted us on Wednesday morning as we took possession of our new home.  After making several unsuccessful attempts to ascend the North Face taking the Donny Osmond Memorabilia route traversing Hello and OK magazine collection, we acknowledged defeat and withdrew to base camp to reconsider our plans. I had originally suggested that YM be sent/encouraged to make an attempt on the summit, as after all, they were her bloody clothes. I had made tentative plans to have the hound assist LP and was considering preparing some bottles of Actimal to fortify LP in her endeavours, figuring that the hound would be up to carrying the bottles like her cousin the St Bernard.

Somewhat luckily for LP my plans were interrupted by our niece who, following a return from teaching ventriloquism in Spain, found herself temporarily ‘between jobs’ and had come to visit LP and gorge on Sugar Free Farlay’s rusks. Downfield Niece or as I like to, and shall call her, Kirkton Neice (KN), selflessly agreed to step in and take on the challenge of the North face. So, armed with a Philips head screwdriver and a can of WD40, YM and I hoisted KN up to the top of the boxes where KN smothered herself with WD40 in order to slide between the ceiling and boxes to head toward the ikeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa wardrobes. KM achieved this with ease and was soon beavering away dismantling the top of the wardrobe and extracting LP’s dresses. Oh to see the excitement on LP’s wee face as as KN handed over her bonny frocks. Bravo KN you saved the day.

KN was also responsible for one of the things I have learned over the past week

1.       LP is the families LP not just YM and I. This means that LP will never be alone and always be loved.  I never thought of that before and needed my wee niece to say it.

2.       Planning anything with LP is impossible.

3.       Stuff works out when it is supposed to, not when I plan for it to therefore there is no need to worry

4.       Breath

5.       I am extraordinarily lucky

 

The sniffles

Another week’s worth of knowledge…..

 

LP kept YM and I on our toes this week. This in itself was not any easy task as we skated about on a sea of snot for the best part of it. Although we thought that LP might succumb to the odd childhood infection,  well not perhaps an "odd" infection like Trans-fat Induced Personality Change (AKA Potato Chip Rage), I'm talking about the usual scratchy type conditions that any well rounded childhood  contains.   To be clear, I don't want LP to be ripe with disease but I do want to be able to say, just once in my life, "Cursed child she hath the pox" in a booming Brian Blessed type voice.

Anyway poor LP awoke on Monday morning after her usual 12 hours of, save for a brief babble, uninterrupted sleep (Yeah! Check us out!!!). YM brought a sleepy and slightly less smilie LP through to the living room whilst I zapped 6 oz of Actamil for 20 seconds. LP somewhat lethargically sooked at her milk whilst YM prepared breakfast and I released the hound.

 

On my return from our morning constitutional YM was struggling to get LP to eat breakfast. YM had even switched to the chopped strawberries and Petits Filous option, which is normally so much of a winner that it cannot be prepared within sight of LP for fear she would use her 3 “Chucky” teeth to gnaw through the baby gate to get to it. Sadly, on this occasion LP was having none of it. Over the past weeks you might think that I had learned a thing or two about keeping my gob shut and not in any way making any suggestions with regard to the parenting of LP. On this occasion I scored an epic fail when I suggested LP might manage herself if she was in her Bumble seat. A swift response of “Well if you think you can do any better, you blood try” was offered by YM as I covered LP’s ears to protect her from this YM’s expletives. A Micky Mouse bowl and plastic spoon was then thrust into my unsuspecting hands which I took as an indication that YM had capitulated and that I was indeed correct all along.

YM was swiftly transferred into her Bumble seat with retro-fitted straps and I positioned myself, cross-legged on the floor, facing LP. I resembled a rather skinny Budda, having gained a few inches round the waist over the past month due to a breakdown of the time/baby continuum which has effectively removed all opportunities to exercise for the time being. I charged LP’s plastic spoon with diced Strawberries and Petite Filous and adopted the ‘mouth open, spoon poised’ pose. I learned this from my nursing day’s whilst working in care of the elderly. It didn’t really help then though and probably just made me look rather vacant. At this very moment LP sneezed and two streams of green snot were simultaneously expelled from her nostrils and strung out like crazy string which descended down her Minnie Mouse Babygrow. Far from being distressed about this LP proceeded to scoop the snot onto the back of her hand and stuck it in her mouth then rubbing her hand back and forward made a “lub, lub lub” sound. It has to be said that this is LP’s party piece, though minus the mucus, and it is normally encouraged by YM and I. On this occasion though, the green snot was now making YM and I think that LP had been abducted by Martians overnight.

 

 

 

 

 

One of the many questions of the week is how long I can use “Daddy Brain” as an excuse for virtually everything I forget to do or attempt to do but not quite succeed at?

 

Daddy Brain Syndrome (DBS) presented way before the Stork delivers LP. It first occurred at work when I allowed my mind to wander and daydream about the joys or abject fear of impending parenthood. My DBS presented as thoughts of taking LP to B&Q to take part in the kids DIY classes. I clearly had not given this too much thought as, due to LP’s age, it would be some time before I am legally and morally allowed to let her loose with a circular saw. YM, who has clearly been reading way too much Freud, suggests that this attack of DBS was simply a surreptitious attempt to improve my skills to cover up for my shortcomings in DIY department. In a rather poor attempt to restore some vestiges of my masculinity, YM did kindly point out that I do make a rather moist Victoria Sponge.

 

Acute exacerbations of DBS (symptoms include: proud smiles, tears and early onset impecunity) have occurred whilst gazing at LP or being separated from LP in a queue at the café in Morrison’s Supermarket. There is no treatment for an acute exacerbation however the symptoms do appear to reduce over time and present as being further diminished by sleep deprivation, stealth baby puke and poorly timed, but well executed, code browns.

 

Although DBS has been as yet incurable, there are a number of self-help techniques which can reduce the adverse effects of this debilitating condition.

1.      At the onset of an acute exacerbation of DBS produce a mindblowingly cute picture of your LP and proudly display it to those around you. This will cause them to be temporally infected with DBS too thus allowing time to compose oneself.

2.      Loudly discuss baby clothes, bonny bobble hats and wee shoes. This is guaranteed to diminish any anger directed at you when you have been overcome by DBS.

Glad to report that YM is back to her usual self and her status has been downgraded from DEFCOM 1 to 5.