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 30 - DROPPING and STRAINING

I HAVE heard it from more than one source, both experts and the old wife who dishes out all the tales, that children under the age of one (or something) are unable to intentionally drop things.

Science and studies claim that babies, although able to pick things up and grip them, are unable to then release their hold on purpose. It's just a development stage in their biomechanics that they have yet to reach.  

Well, without wishing to be contraire or to claim that I have created a unique being, I have to say that I fundamentally disagree with the claim. I have run a number of meal-time studies with my specimen and I am 100 per cent confident that A-bomb enjoys picking an item of food up, taking it to her mouth, feigning interest then nonchalantly dropping it off the side of her tray, with the sole aim of getting under my skin.

At breakfast time today, which offered both sweet and savoury French Toast with cinammon on the former and Worcester Sauce on the latter, the stinkbomb basically took the piss out of me. There I was, excited as she picked up a piece of the bread and swung it with a flourish towards her gummy cake-hole, only to be knocked off my proud perch as she tossed my culinary efforts on to the scrap heap that is my wooden floor.

M'Lady was in her element. She had my full attention and a pile of delicious food in front of her. Five times she collected a piece of the eggy bread with her lumpy hands before smiling at me, giving me a wink* and then chucking it on the floor, while saying "pick that up you idiot", in her mind.

*she can't wink, that was an exaggeration

After numerous failed attempts at my gourmet, painstakingly-prepared toast, I felt that the Lady hadn't eaten enough so I wheeled out Old Trusty, the banana. Obviously she gobbled that down while laughing heartily. She then returned to the original offering with some decent bites recorded.

Then, quite abruptly M'Lady stopped in her tracks. She placed her hands down in front of her and stopped the manic wriggling of her legs that had been going for a good 30 minutes. Her eyes became fixed on an unknown point directly in front of her and she took a deep breath. She then visibly braced her whole body. I was transfixed, interested in what was about to happen. Perhaps she was going to speak, to say "thank you for my lovely breakfast"...

Then all became clear as an almighty fart ripped out of her backside. I say "fart" because that's what I was hoping for. As it turned out it was more of a solid than a gas and I was occupied for quite some time with the old wet wipes.

After the sensational clay-like evacuation there were no more issues with feeding. All she needed was to make a bit of room. 

Day 29 - SING ME A SONG YOU'RE THE BUGGY MAN

"MONSTER. STOMPER... WHERE'D YOU GET YOUR ROMPER?!"...

That was just the first line of a song I was singing to M'Lady as I wheeled the lazy so and so home from the gym (she'd been in the creche not on the weights... again, lazy). I thought I'd been singing the catchy little ditty to myself in whispered tones but it became apparent that my in ability to do things quietly had struck again when a "trendy" person strutted past with a nervous look on his face which plainly said "I don't understand your kind, you are singing strange things, I'm scared, don't steal me in the wheeled vessel".

An episode of being caught singing to yourself or chanting at a baby in a buggy might be embarrassing for some, although not me because that is very much the least of my worries given the nonsense situations I find myself in (e.g practising Michael Jackson's dance moves from Smooth Criminal at a urinal, then realising there was a gentleman shuffling awkwardly behind me). However, I would suggest that once it's happened once, probably on the first day any new parent ventures out alone with a buggy, that's it, done. Songs, dances and full-blown musical performances are going to happen and the rest of the street population need to embrace all offerings. Sing loud, sing proud. My motto on this is: "If the baby likes your song, then sing it, regardless of any snotty-nosed chump that finds it weird, offensive, or not in keeping with their daily vibe, in fact sing it louder if someone stares". Yes, it's a long motto but it hits all of the points I need covered.

Going back to that first line of my unfinished masterpiece, the words to the lyric don't seem to mean anything, and in fact they don't mean anything. Nevertheless as becomes clearer everyday looking after this munchbunch nincompoop, words and thoughts might get forgotten, missed out and thrown into different sentences but they will re-emerge somewhere, either when I talk in my sleep ("yes, well done for your nearly crawling. Wow. Ice-cream." was one the other day) or possibly in song. Deconstructing the line and for the benefit of the skinny-jeaned, top-button-done-up, greased-hair-in-side-parting shell-shocked chap, I would suggest that I was telling my darling that she is a lovely baby (monster) wearing a beautiful romper (romper) suit while smashing her heels down on the pram (stomper).

Days are merging into one at the moment, what with all the singing... this happened on Tuesday, June 28.

DAY 28 - TIRED!

HERE we are, the inevitable day/night where time worked against me and the hours in the day simply ran out.

Of course, these words are words but that's about it. No real post because instead of putting down some thoughts on M'lady's behaviour at a friend's house (excellent) or giving my opinion on England's performance against Iceland in the Euros (dismal), I made the decision to go to sleep, in  a bid to start tomorrow fresh.

Eyes. Are. Closing.

I will save my musings on baby bath bubbles and the space undernath a pram for another time.

After a long day out and about, on the road, eating and drinking, it's time for a good sleep.

Back in action tomorrow.

Thanks.

DAY 27 – ICE-CREAM IDIOTS?!

THE HOUSE went to bed with both parents crossing their fingers very tightly. Both hoping that the ultimate error in baby-led weaning had not be committed.

Ever since the little munchbunch was first given real food she has grabbed everything with both hands and shoved it deep into her mouth, often without realising that too much was being loaded in. Sometimes it looked like carrots, mushrooms and steamed apple was erupting out of her eyes and ears but I think that was an optical illusion. Today was the same, with a plate loaded with chicken breast (she requested thighs but the the Milk Lady was somewhat lazy*), green beans and carrots, she methodically picked her favourite bits up, swung them into her mouth with some flair and gulped them down without any fuss.

The Mama and I were eating the same meal and very nice it was. Once we had finished our meals we decided that as it was the weekend and we like to live life in the fast lane we should have an ice-cream from the freezer. Strawberry, in a cone. Delicious.

Pleased with the progress of our little one it we decided to try something that we may come to regret. With the benefit of hindsight it looks like showboating... but we thought it would nice for A-bomb to try the sweet taste of soft strawberry ice-cream. We touched the dessert on the lips of our darling and immediately she was fixed. Eye-lids peeled open, eyeballs bulging. She leaned forward with her mouth wide open... yes, she liked the stuff. On her next foray M'lady chomped right into the ball of ice, unperturbed but its frozen nature. We gave her four attempts in total before deciding that her weekly allowance of sugar had probably been reached on suck number one.

However, the lovely girl did not take kindly to having this magical nectar taken from her, so soon  after being introduced to it. An upside-down smile was quickly enacted and the beginnings of a first food tantrum looked look it was in the offing. Luckily I was quick off the mark and simply unbuckled her and lifted her out of the feeding zone and all was forgotten.

Nevertheless, we now don't know for sure if that was the Last Supper for food without tantrums, unless all meals are made of ice-cream. In our smugness we may have introduced our girl to something she will insist upon at every eating session, afterall it is rather tasty.

It might be a tough addiction to get over, but we will help her. 

When you know about strawberry cornets, why would anyone eat chicken and cabbage?

We will soon find out how this plays out...

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.

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.