DAY 25 – PINCER GRIP

THE SMOKER'S cough was still around but it looked like it was clearing up. Maybe M'lady took the hint and kicked the roll-up habit. The main thing though was that she didn't wake up during the night and at 0700 on the dot she was full of smiles and ready to be fed.

A-bomb was back in the game, which was great news. It also meant I didn't have to cancel Baby Yoga, which if I'm honest is one of the highlights of my week, never mind hers. Missed it last week due to knife-throwing on the Stag-do, so I would've been more than miffed if I'd had to skip it again because of a cough-cough Tell-Tiny-Tim-I-Won't-Coming-Home-For-Christmas plonker.

I could tell my girl was back on form because she stuffed a muffin in her face, guzzled her milk and slept for nearly an hour in the pram while walking to the pre-yoga breakfast (for adults) location. Happy days.

Yoga was excellent – we did the usual "You Are My Sunshine" routine with legs and arms moving and little kisses to wake the tiny turds up and we practised various poses, which certainly got a few clicks out of my spine, ever-compressed from carrying around The Lump. We also did "The Grand Old Duke of York" routine, which involves holding your baby at down, half-way and top with straight arms as is appropriate with the lyrics... Now I may have mentioned this before, but the fact that A-bomb expects me to lift her, in rhythm, to the Top, Half-way Up and Down, is frankly out of order. I looked around the room and saw some seriously long and lean kids. In comparison I was dealing with a baby cannon ball. I've had a word with A-bomb and she's going on a strict diet of exclusively fat-loss pills*

*CHILL OUT. This little piggy will be eating as much roast beef as she wants. She just won't be getting hoisted up to the top of the hill unless Daddy gets some serious gym work done*

*I jest, I've got it covered. Sure.

It was like having a different baby given the switch from sad-face Thursday to smiley Friday!

Back at the ranch we spent the afternoon in the garden in the play pen (it is our travel cot, which serves EXACTLY the same purpose as a stupidly expensive "play pen" from Amazon) and I was over the moon that my jokes and little skits were once again receiving the laughs they deserved. My revamped "aaaand boo" sketch went down particularly well, with lots of giggles and out-of-control foot stamps. Then, my new bouncy-bouncy questions act also went down well – bounce on knee while shouting aggressively "WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THE EU" – although she had zero answers for me, just breathless pants while poking her tongue out. Not too different to when I played with some UKIP voters.

Food time was a real treat for M'Lady because she had the fritters that she didn't eat yesterday as well as Tarragon Chicken, mushroom and green beans. She had her gobbling face on so I was looking forward to a big eating session.

Fritters were a great success as a starter.

I tend to take the approach of not staring at A-bomb while she eats because I don't like it when people do that to me. It happens when you're last to finish and others are waiting for you. "Get out of my grill mofos" is what I might say to that. However, after a good minute of no chicken or mushroom being eaten I took a look and saw a frustrated face. She couldn't pick the slippery stuff up.

"Poor little lovely," I thought.
"She can't manage it"
"Oh look she's picked up the mushroom up by pincering it with her fingers!"

On closer inspection it emerged that on putting on her splash-proof cover-all outift I hadn't pulled her thumbs through, so she was operating with just four fingers. Pretty poor from me and impressive from the youngster to battle her frustration and succeed. Who needs thumbs?

A quick sleep sprint to finish off before a Milk Lady bath time and that rounded off a great day*

M'lday also excelled herself by doing a sneaky slash on her Mum just before the bath. High five to her. 

*aside from the fact that we were mourning the loss of the EU and facing up to a dystopia where the UK has opted to be cut-off from it's old allies and our seven-month-old faces a lifetime of austerity.