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.