DAY 34 - 36 - Pelicans, Giraffes and Toddlers

Sneaky Percy Pelican

THE last few days have been a bit of blur. I'm not sure why but I feel like I have been in a pretty useless time-travelling capsule which doesn't let you see the past or the future but simply steals your time and gives you a snotty nose. In fact I think that is exactly what has happened.

Given that I was kidnapped, thrown in the budget time machine and that I currently have a Lemsip on the same timings as A-Bomb's feeds, I am throwing three days of action into one post, just to get myself back on track. Thinking about it, there is every chance that M'Lady drugged me with memory loss pills to pay me back for Mini-milk-gate. She is a sneaky lady.

Anyway, Sunday – delicious lunch at a friend's with one younger baby and two older toddlers in attendance, where I was shown up by a two-year-old on one of those giant bubble wand things... I was simply trying to give guidance on how to form a bubble, but it transpired that I was useless and the little cretin (actually super cute) was a much more accomplished bubbler. Note: must practise my bubble technique.

At home we opened up some bath toys that had somehow been overlooked for seven months. So, belatedly Colin the Crab, Trudi the Turtle and Percy Pelican entered the watery arena. They will be hard pressed to oust bathroom stalwarts Mr Crab, Oscar Octopus and Steve the Sponge but they can try. During the Welcoming Ceremony the Milk Lady was holding Colin, Trudi and Percy under the water before squeezing them to spray water from their respective holes. "Look at this," she exclaimed while seeming to aim the Pelican at the bath.

"Yes, very good" I replied, not really paying attention because I was washing our daughter and ensuring her safety.

As it turned out Old Milky had misjudged (had she?!) where the scumbag pelican's squirt hole actually was and thus I was blasted square in the face with a torrent of soapy water (non-sting). Ha. Ha. Perhaps childishly I then joined forces with the old crowd and activated Oscar's hose to create an uncomfortable wet patch on the Milker's pant region. A-bomb waited patiently to be lifted to a towel.


Monday... A day of practising rolling over, crawling and sitting up. It was tough, but I think I've mastered it. Boom Boom. Sorry. The revelation on this day came on our educational trip to the plant and wood museum also known as Homebase, with the buggy in an upright position (it was not a nap walk... flat riding is for sleeping). Sophie the Giraffe as always was riding in the carriage but I noticed a change from the usual arrangement where M'Lady holds the rubbery animal in one hand while chomping on it's neck and face. Now, the clever minx had fashioned things so that Sophie was wedged under the straps, meaning there was no need to bother with holding her with hands. It was hands-free gumming from now on. Already her limbs were being done out of work. What next, those hideous trainers with wheels in? Nope, not on my watch.


Tuesday... Helen, a seasoned professional in the realms of child-rearing visited us with her two cool dudes; two-year-old Freddie and nine-month-old Benny. Coffee was brewed, croissants and biscuits laid out and the morning was ours to catch up on things and discuss life in general. Ha... not a chance. A-bomb, although chilled to the max required feeding as did her baby counterpart, while Freddie was in among anything and everything. At one point the toddler ventured into the garden and helpfully returned with a trowel loaded with compost, in case we needed it. As it happened, we didn't but he wasn't to know. I then tasked the little chap to use the broom he'd found to brush my patio... he was a fast worker though and was finished in 30 seconds and asked for his next task.

Seeing the two brothers in action was a rapid lesson in how having two youngsters is a completely different ball game to just looking after one (which is no walk in the park!). While the Fredster was running, jumping and bouncing in all directions, Benny the Bruiser was brushing off any collisions with not so much as a raised eyebrow and motoring around the place using his rapid crawling technique. The action was frantic and relentless. Awesome to see, but nonetheless, breathless. Meanwhile, the A-bomb was cracking on with her own self-contained business, which involved collecting a plastic yellow ring and attempting to eat it.

The Gang

 Needless to say that during a lovely morning playing with the kids, learning about the cartoon character Bing and hearing about Fireman Sam's fire truck, only half a croissant, half a cookie and one cup of coffee was consumed, between us. 

At one point I was able to use the visiting gang as trialists for a new fitness class I might be launching, for parents, babies and toddlers... there is some ironing out to do but watching a toddler run through the Agility Ladder, with his baby brother mimicking his steps, aided my his mum was a wonderful thing to witness! True Spartans (www.spartanfitnesslondon.co.uk).

Speed drills though the ladder

I think I have now emerged from the memory-loss-time-tunnel and have a few points to take forward: Don't trust pelicans, watch out for M'Lady being lazy with her limbs, do not underestimate the relative ease of caring for one child as opposed to two or more!

DAY 31 – COMMANDO KID

AFTER a few weeks off we returned to Baby Sensory to hear the teachings of The Leader.

Firstly a giant thunderstorm was piped through speakers at an intense volume, which succeeded in scaring the life out of all babies and parents. All part of the "awakening the senses" experience. Then we continued with the brainwashing by chanting "say hello to the sun... etc" before hundreds of bubbles were blown in our darlings' faces at the same time as bells were shaken aggressively in front of their tiny eyes. The grand finale saw the pre-toddlers smothered with chiffon rags while being bounced up and down on a waterbed. A-bomb smiled and laughed throughout but I cannot confirm whether or not that was through happiness or fear.

Post-Sensory the usual gang of mums and I (plus babies) treated ourselves to lunch at Cafe Nero... I know, high-rollers. While we inhaled our sandwiches and wraps the baby army got stuck into their respective bottles of milk and pots of solids. The highlight was when M'Lady joined her friend, codename "Z",  in a high-pitched duet. She "sung" her noises (I cannot call them words) and then "Z" warbled back high notes that are unattainable by normal folk. It was certainly lovely to watch because the pair of seven-month-olds were clearly enjoying communicating with each other, however I must say it was an awful racket and I'm not holding out much hope for a lucrative singing career for my daughter.

Back at the ranch we got through the naps, milk feed and solids session in excellent fashion (sweet potato and a first foray into cheddar cheese), which left us with lots of play time on the mat, with Wimbledon tennis on in the background. Calm down baby vigilantes... A-bomb wasn't watching TV she was busy hitting herself in the face with her wooden squeaky toy. Anyway, I set the munchbunch a task of chasing down her toys using only her body, i.e without me handing her what she wants or me lifting her over to the coveted items. Another rule that was impossible to enforce was: no rolling. The Lady has become an expert making her way to any desired location by flipping herself front to back then back to front, as many times as required, which is plainly unacceptable on the streets and not a practical method of travel. So with only her best interests at heart I had set the scene. Clearly the girl has got a steely determination, especially when it come to her beloved toys and as soon as the rattly squeaker thing was put on the other side of the room she launched herself forwards. M'Lady succeeded and I am putting it down as a full-blown crawl but I must say that her technique was less textbook baby crawl and more Royal Marine evading capture in a sweaty jungle. Lumpy legs propelled her forward as her left arm simultaneously reached out front, wedging her shoulder almost under her chest. From there she somehow sprung herself onward, reaching forward with her right arm but keeping her left arm under her body. All the while she was making the sound of a warthog with tonsillitis. Weird but effective. Top commando crawling Private A-bomb.

DAY 23 - THOUGHTS ON EU REFERENDUM

SOMETIMES I can go hours or even days without speaking to another adult.

Of course I say bye and hi to my beloved wife at the bookends of the working day but if I'm talking about seeing and conversing with other real human adults, days can pass without any grown-up interaction.

If as a stay-at-home-look-after-the-baby parent you find and take one second to think about who you have spoken to on a regular day you will often find your chats have been with your baby as well as his or her toys.

I also find that I these days I tend not to speak my usual language, it's more of a gobbledegook noise that is the universal tongue that us adults think a baby understands better than English, or whatever the parents' tongue is.

So, with the EU Referendum looming over the UK, I have found that my discussions and debates on the merits of REMAIN and LEAVE have been held largely in my own head, with the people on television and radio, with my seven-month-old and her friends.  Her friends are, on the whole, cuddly and plastic toy animals.

Now, without becoming too political on what is a blog about being on Shared Parental Leave to look after my baby, I thought it was only right to at least mention a vote that will undoubtedly have a huge impact on my family. For the first time I have had to (well I didn’t have to but I have) think about how the result will affect my daughter, who has no say on things.

It is right that A-bomb doesn’t have a vote, because what she says is largely drivel and in fact, dribble. Nevertheless, if talking unintelligible garbage was a reason to withhold voting rights a fairly large chunk of the population, including members of both the LEAVE and REMAIN campaigns would be denied their ballot papers. The fact is that you only need to be of the correct age to be given permission to put an X in a box and decide a nation's future. 

So after having the various arguments with myself and attempting to work out what truths were hidden in the carpet bombs of lies, damned lies and statistics dropped by politicians via the media, I decided to conduct my own interviews with a cross-section of society that I associate with most at the moment.

Before I set out the thoughts of my interviewees I should give a few opinions on the prominent figures in the so-called BREXIT/BREMAIN campaign:

 - Boris Johnson, a hugely intelligent man, has let himself down for feeling the need to peddle lies on stats rather than give intelligent reasoning

- David Cameron has inspired nobody

- Jeremy Corbyn has shown himself as a weak leader by not speaking up strongly enough for either camp. 

- Michael Gove has excelled himself in making himself even more hated than when he attempted to destroy the education system

- Nigel Farage has done himself justice by sticking to his principles and living up to expectations. He has remained utterly xenophobic/racist, myopic, ill-informed and utterly useless.

Now to the interviews, with the most sensible bunch I could find at short notice:



SOPHIE THE GIRAFFE

I can see what all of the OUT lot are saying about immigration. I agree, there are loads of 'em coming here. But getting out of the EU isn't going to stop 'em coming in. We will have even less power to stop the flow of immigrants if we are acting alone. Also, I don't have a problem with Johnny Foreigner coming in to work... it seems that they're doing a bloody good job at fair prices. There are plenty of BRITISH freeloaders milking the system... can we have a referendum on getting rid of them? Don't get my blue tongue started on the Jeremy Kyle brigade.


WEIRD CRINKLY DOLL FACE

I've listened to all the debates and it seems like a lot of lies have been told, especially about us paying this £350 million a week to the EU. It's simply not true. I'm sure there are other stats that would support an OUT vote but the Out campaign chose to use an untruth. Weird.
Also people are banging on about us losing our sovereignty. I disagree. We have been blocked by the EU so few times in comparison with when our wishes have sailed through.


TWO COWS AND PIGGY

As a collective we find it ironic that a lot of nationalistic, chest-puffed-out Brits want OUT. These are the same people that are proud and humbled by our Armed Forces. Do they not realise one of the key reasons why the EU was formed? It was borne out of the Second World War, when the smart European nations decided to club together to make sure that never again would they fight each other. Its seems to have worked. We are so proud of our current boys and girls in the Army, Royal Navy and Royal Air Force and we are in awe of what their predecessors did in the World Wars... it seems remarkable that we want to opt out of a system that these men and women fought for,  and that has served us well in terms of bringing relative peace.


LITTLE BEAR

Get me out! Bunch of refugees coming in here nicking my porridge. Let's close the borders, get Boris in charge and get rid of anyone without a British passport. Does anyone know if I'll still be able to get into Europe with my current passport? Will it still be easy to fly to Spain?
Actually I've got mates and grandparents that have retired in Europe, will they have to come back the UK?! Can we close the borders if we are just the UK? Will I still be able to get my loft converted by foreign workers?... it's just that they are the best value and get the job done at rapid speed...? I don't mind the Eastern European lot if they're doing the manual jobs because they're top notch and don't charge silly money. And they're on time. The rest can get out though. Except the doctors. And nurses. They're good too. But the others! Bloody immigrants.


SMUG SHEEP

If people are voting OUT just to get David Cameron OUT then they are maniacs. We chose Cameron at the General Election and if we want rid of him now we will have to wait until the next General Election. Yes he is weasel of the highest order but I am pretty certain that Boris is even more of a right-wing nutjob and will systematically destroy the NHS, tighten the purse strings on the poor and will look after his own people. He is a dangerous man.


BLUE WHALE

Farage makes out that he is the champion of fishing while stating that fishermen are better of OUT of the EU. If he's such a hero of the fisherman why did he only attend ONE EU meeting on the matter when he had access to loads? To be honest, I don't think I would be welcome in Farage's country if we're not in the EU - I'm not white and my parents were not born here. Oh dear, all of my lot will be frogmarched out if we don't vote IN.


Good to get a few views from my new mates.

Now to vote to protect ourselves and the future of the next generation.