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By trade I am a journalist with a background in current affairs, culture, health and fitness, travel and high profile interviews. I also own and run an outdoor fitness business aimed at people that hate gyms and bootcamps (www.spartanfitnesslondon.co.uk). Most importantly though, I am on Shared Parental Leave from May 31 to October 3. Everyday from 0730 to 1800 I will be in sole charge of a real and completely awesome baby girl.

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Sunday, 26 June 2016

DAY 26 - CLIFFHANGER

IN keeping with my edgy rock star lifestyle I had fetched the clothes drying rail from the garden at about 2330 on Friday night. I thought it might rain, so the clothes were now indoors. That is the exciting context for this high-octane tale.

It was 0800 - breakfast time. We had the last of the "delicious" blueberry muffins (sans any sugar) to get through and a buttered crumpet was also on the menu. So, there M'lady was chowing down on her food, carefully arranged by herself on her highchair tray, while I was in vision making a cup of tea not 8 yards away. In order to get to the kettle I probably made two paces forward before turning to check A-bomb hadn't sprung herself onto the floor or inadvertently eaten her own hand. I boiled the kettle, made my tea and returned to the table to join the fun. I then realised that I had forgotten to bring my own peanut butter crumpets with me, so I re-did the five-second trip to the kitchen to retrieve them.

On returning to the food area I found A-boss elevated out of her high chair, straining like a fighting dog on the harness that keeps her legs in, and hanging on to the clothes drying rail with her right hand. In her left hand she was holding a clean vest, which she was eating. The lady was in no distress but her face suggested that she believed that to let go would see her falling into an abyss. I pulled on the rail and her grip tightened. I tried to prise her little fingers off the thin white bars but that only had the effect of M'lady smashing her other fist on her plastic table like a crazy person. By this stage A-bomb's body was at a full arch between high chair and rail, still while strapped in. Her face was a mix of bewilderment and determination. Impressive stuff. I eventually managed to get a handle on the situation and no harm was done: the high chair was in good order, my washing was dry; and A-bomb was unperturbed. However it was another rapid less in what a baby can achieve in three seconds, while tied down. Note: eyes must remain fixed on baby at all times otherwise baby will attempt rail/cliffhanging or other dangerous pursuits.

After all of the extreme hanging I accidentally started work on a new West End musical called "The Muffin Man". Eating had slowed down and I was hoping to reignite munching by singing the well-known "Muffin Man...Drury Lane" song to my customer. My version was a slower version, more melancholy and suggested The Muffin of Drury Lane was sad and had been forgotten... he longed for people to love his ware, but the likes of cheese and bean slices and croissants had taken over. I also gave a quick rendition of "hail for the bus driver, bus driver, bus driver... hail for the bus driver, bus driver man", replacing bus with "muff" (muffin) and driver with "diver". That was deemed inappropriate so I stopped.

That was a lot of excitement for one meal time so we both went for a nap.




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