DAY FOUR – TWO DADS, Yoga and the Knowing Nod

*Since the time of writing, my main inspiration in life, Muhammad Ali, has died. His legend will live on and many of his lessons will be passed on to my little girl, mainly to be confident, be yourself and never let someone write you off.*

TODAY was a big day for the A-Bomb because she found out that she actually has TWO Dads. I was in the living room with her, just doing a bouncy bouncy fun fun fun fun kind of jig (like Pooh's mate Tigger), with The Lady over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, when it dawned on her that she has not one but two Dads. They don't often appear together but when they do, they are in very close proximity and they always wear the same clothes. Both are legendary creatures. Yes, the lovely lady lost her mind with excitement when she looked in the mirror and saw me. She could see the funny bloke who now looks after her not only from one direction in front of her face but also from her other side. This was a good half hour's fun and something I will probably go back to everyday until she works the magic out.

It was also a significant day for me because I was accepted into two more groups, one conventional and one that has no sign-up form and no formal acceptance procedure. There's not even a weird tickly handshake like that adopted by some secret societies.

In order to stick with the routine of the 0900 nap time I headed out to our Baby Yoga class in Tooting with plenty (too much) time to get there. Due to my hugely early arrival and with the baby in a deep sleep, complete with old-man snoring, I decided to go for a coffee in Nero. As I went to spin my three-wheeled vehicle round to take it in backwards a man sprinted towards the door to grab it and provide easy passage for me. I looked up, rather surprised at the kind gesture, to see the gent was with a 2-ish-old daughter. I said "thanks very much" and he looked at me intensely and replied "No, it's ok" and nodded knowingly. It was a very brief encounter but the loving pain etched in nice chap's weary skin told the whole story: "You are one of us now it growled wisely: it is a universal struggle to smash through doorways that are too narrow; keep a child asleep as a rude ambulance blares past unannounced; to know exactly why your child has gone from the happiest to the saddest person on the planet in a nanosecond; and to remember to ALWAYS wipe from front to back when, as a male you've never heard of that rule before". Lots of information in one smiley frown. I was in the society of Dads now and I was pleased.

We got to Baby Yoga (run by Northcote Baby) in good time and was able to chill out with the heffalump for a while. She didn't fancy any pre-exercise food and was content to rest up in her armchair, like a trucker on a tea break.

Rocking the Bonds Australia Wondersuit

Of all the classes The Milk Lady has signed us up for this one is the most focused on the parent, while completely incorporating the baby, which is brilliant. You basically do a decent yoga class while carrying or at least keeping eye contact with your little one. The instructor Siobhan Power, owner of Calmer Kids Yoga, certainly knows her stuff and while keeping things very relaxed, pushes participants to achieve difficult poses. I did have to mention at one point that she was demonstrating with a 10g dolly, while I was being asked to hold a 10-ish-Kg dead weight above my head in the "warrior" pose. I've had a word with my lumpy daughter and she'll be going on a strict slimming diet from tomorrow* so as not to make me look weak.  The babies all loved it too and they showed their gratitude in their own special ways... by stamping heels aggressively into the floor, falling asleep and chucking up over the mats. Alexa's sign of approval was a new move that I'm calling the SNURPART, which took place during the post yoga feed and involved her sneezing at the exact moment she was burping while simultaneously doing a fart, which on later inspection was confirmed as a shart. I was pleased she liked the class and ecstatic to be showered in sneeze-milk. Another class done and another group that had accepted me for what I am, a human parent. 

*that was a joke – I'm feeding this one up to have the tastiest thighs ever known. Any suggestion that babies should lose weight she be met with spoonful of shut the hell up.

Any uncertainty we might have had regarding the amount of food that she is actually taking down has been blown away by the evidence of this morning's nappy. That 0850 pre-nap nappy change was quite the spectacle. She blasted out her waste with such force that it shot up the back of the nappy and lodge on her white vest – it was a fully formed piece of baby corn. I have a picture but I thought that might be a but much for this medium.

On the food front today we had: 
Breakfast – one-egg omelette, which went down very well.
Dinner – Sweet potato chunks and baby corn – looking forward to seeing that in its next life.
All in all another marvellous, poo and pride-filled day.

DAY 32 – BUGGY BUGBEARS

WHEN it comes to chatting about buggies/prams/stroller/pushchairs there won't be many that are more happy with their product than I am with my Baby Jogger City Mini GT.

The user-friendly piece of kit is robust, has excellent manoeuvrability, is remarkably easy to assemble and fold up and it looks super stylish, especially for people like the Milk Lady who are obsessed with the colour red. Furthermore despite not being designed as a running buggy the Baby Jogger is versatile enough to cater for a decent run on roads and flat grass.

And when the product is in "pram" mode, when a new baby needs to be kept flat in the compact or deluxe pram, the storage basket is pretty large. 

As you may have predicted though, there is a "but". A giant "but". For all of the merits of this superb baby vessel, of which there are many, when it is in standard "stroller" mode, the amount of under-baby storage is simply inadequate.

I've had many a rant, to myself and to whoever happens to be close by when my self-destruct button has been activated and steam is billowing from my nostrils, about the lack of room for the infamous yet vital Baby Bag. As the kids might say, "O.M.G," there have been some fireworks.

A particular standout moment with regards Buggy Undercarriage Meltdowns came ahead of my latest walk to Baby Yoga, one of my favourite parts of the week. As always A-Bomb and I were due to meet the NCT mums at the end of our road to walk up for breakfast pre-yoga... lovely. Meet at 0850 for a leisurely 15-minute stroll. Sure.

There had been a textbook 0700 wake-up from M'Lady, a nappy change, a feed from the Milk Lady, some porridge fingers in the high chair and by 0825 we were dressed and ready to go... we just needed to pack the all-important Baby Bag under the three-wheeled buggy. Now, I will admit that by now I should have known to have loaded the bag *before* plugging in the baby, but I had not done that. A-Bomb was plugged in without any fuss but I knew that once on-board, movement needed to take place within at least 10 seconds before annoyance, then full crying would kick in. No problem... I just needed to sling the bag in and we'd be off.

I grabbed the bag (a blue and pink number that I recently subbed in for a fetching red Longchamp carrier that was far too big for the buggy) and attempted to wedge it into the tray underneath the Lady. No chance. It would not fit. A-Bomb was already making noises about not being on the move. I whacked the brake on to ensure the buggy didn't roll away while I pushed the bag harder.

I had already stripped out several emergency clothing items, baby goggles, and a sunhat to trim down the bag's size. I had even reduced the number of nappies from the mandatory eight to just three to save space. On reflection that was mental – I got away with it, but it was a stupid, irrational move that should never be repeated. If anything I deserved to end the day covered in a nutty substance for my naivety. Never leave home without EIGHT extra nappies.

After one minute of wrestling with the bag I had made zero progress and whoever was filming me was making multiples of £250 for You've Been Framed. A-bomb was now super frustrated because she could see no reason why the bloke who pushes her was not pushing her. A fair point. My front door was open because to allow for a quick exit but at this stage it was just giving passers-by a window into a mad man attacking a pushchair. I was basically taking run ups and shoulder-charging a small bag into my daughter while aggressively muttering things along the lines of "oh dear, I wish this bag would pop underneath the buggy, because I am now late. Fiddly Dee".

With me dripping in sweat, veins popping through my skin and my eyes popping out of my skull,  my pre-yoga inner zen had been knocked somewhat sideways. A bag containing nappies, some milk and some spare clothes had reduced me to a shell of a person all because the storage compartment on the Baby Jogger City Mini GT is not acceptable, in my (correct) opinion.

Anyway... eventually by sheer brute force the bag was pushed into place and we got on our way. We weren't even late, thanks to my excellent, relaxed preparation. It was never in doubt, I had it under control.

Breakfast at our favourite place, Tota (ww.tota-restaurant.co.uk) was excellent and Baby Yoga (www.northcotebaby.com) was great... a good way to chill out, even when required to hold a whale baby above my head for long stints.

Just, to reiterate, A-Bomb and I love our buggy and still would not trade it for a a different model... but we would politely suggest to Baby Jogger that efforts could and should be made to increase the storage capacity.

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.