Month of Mondays

I read a tweet today that started with the phrase ‘January is the Monday of months’. It’s a sentiment I can wholeheartedly agree with, not least because I spent most of last month wandering around in a grumpy daze, being generally hap-hazard and wishing that it would be over. Here’s a small selection of reasons why:

I made another child cry at a birthday party: Honestly, I’m terrified at the thought of children’s parties taking over our lives at the weekends in the years to come. This is partly because I know the chances of me doing something stupid and/or awkward are enhanced in such situations. This particular example was (I think) only my third experience of being a parent at another child’s birthday party and on the previous two occasions, I’d managed to hide in the corner by the crisps and dip, so well out of harm’s way. 

 

On this occasion, I tried to be helpful. Big mistake. 

 

When the children sat down for food, I noticed that the little girl sitting next to M was having trouble with her party hat. I went to help and apparently managed to put the hat on her with no problem. Or so I thought as, five seconds later, the girl started to cry. As her mum came over, it became apparent that the girl’s bigger sister was sitting next to her and, if you’ll excuse me for being childish, was a massive tell-tale. “THAT MAN made her cry” said the older girl, pointing to me in the style of a witness in an over-dramatic television courtroom scene. “I’m really sorry” I said to the mum. “I was only trying to help with her hat”. The mum seemed ok about it, but any parenting confidence I had tried to build up disappeared quicker than the cocktail sausages on M’s plate. This was even before I inadvertently parked a sleeping H’s buggy right next to the music speaker…

The hopes of two nights’ uninterrupted sleep were cruelly dashed: I have a confession to make. Last week, I was away Istanbul for two nights on a business trip and a little part of me was looking forward to it. Obviously, I would miss my little family a lot but I couldn’t help but think about two uninterrupted nights of sleep sound-tracked only by the comforting whirr of the air-conditioning unit in my hotel room. Needless to say, it didn’t quite work out like I hoped. The first night was spent trying to work out why the air-con wasn’t working, trying to adjust to the two-hour time difference, trying to log on to the hotel WIFI so that I could ‘face-time’ with my family and, above all, trying and failing to sleep. The second night was spent feeling progressively poorly, panicking that the planned all-seafood menu in the restaurant that my colleagues and I were eating in was going to make me feel even worse, eventually feeling even worse, wondering if I was going to be sick in the taxi and then being VERY sick when I got back to my room. The next morning was spent trying to sleep it off but being continually disturbed by knocks on my room door accompanied by a shout of “HOUSEKEEPING!”

 

Apparently, a scribbled note outside the door saying ‘Please do not disturb’ is not always effective. On a positive note – back in the UK, my wife and children apparently slept soundly on both of those nights.

Potty training: To be fair, this could have been far worse as we started in the week between Christmas and new year. M has picked it up generally quickly, although the process has not been without accidents or desperate purchases of more Dettol wipes than usual (our poor sofa cushions). Going into February, M now seems to be able to sit herself on the toilet/potty without clinging onto our shoulders for the whole time, so I’m hoping that this means I’m spared hearing every detailed squeeze, splat and splash of her bodily functions at close quarters.

Tantrums: I’m really hoping that the current strops that M seems to be throwing with alarming regularity are as a result of her own January slump. She seems to be arguing and cross about everything at the moment, especially when my wife has the nerve to start feeding H approximately five seconds before M demands her attention (funny, that). We’ve had an apocalyptic screaming fit about being denied a packet of Mini Cheddars whilst in the car(“MUMMY, WHY WON’T YOU LOOK AT ME?!) We’ve had a thrashing, yelling tantrum about the fact she wanted her miniature princess toys in bed with her and we’ve had all manner of kicking, drink-throwing and stamping hissy-fits about…well…I don’t really know. Also, when you don’t do EXACTLY what she wants during a game or activity, she tells you in no uncertain terms that it’s wrong (“No, no, no, no, NO!”)

 

Coughs and colds: Maybe part of the reason we’ve had the tantrums is because M is coming down with something. We’ve found that, at this time of year, she tends to have a cough equivalent to a 40-a-day smoker. H has been congested for what seems like weeks as well. All the vapour plugs and tummy rubs don’t seem to do anything about the fact that his blocked sinuses make him sound like a pig trying to play the trombone.

Logistics: There’s a great Michael McIntyre sketch about him trying to leave the house with his two sons. Now, with two young children, my wife and I can totally relate to how you have to start planning to leave the house an hour before you were scheduled to. This gets even worse in January with the extra coats, jumper, wellies, gloves, packets of Mini Cheddars  (we’ve learnt our lesson now) on top of the usual drinks, bags, baby wraps, spare pants, portable potties…this is even before we get to the protracted negotiations with M about what toys are being taken along with us, why it’s not really necessary to set the iPad up for ‘Topsy and Tim’ episodes when we’ve only got a 15-minute journey, why we are even going out in the first place and exhausted parental cries of “can you PLEASE put your socks back on!”

 

So, January, I’m not sorry to see you go. I know you’ve tried to win me over by bringing Crème Eggs back to the shops early (a crafty move), but I won’t miss you for these next 11 months. See you again in 2017…

All because I love Milk Tray

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There’s a commonly-held belief that, once you become a parent, you have to make certain sacrifices and that time spent on your hobbies and chasing your goals tends to get scaled back somewhat – the sad sight of my golf clubs gathering dust and spider-webs in my garage is testament to this.  Yet, although I’m a father of two, my dreams were – if anything –reignited recently with the news that Cadburys are searching for a new ‘Milk Tray’ Man.

That’s right – like many forgotten heroes, our favourite black-clad purple box-wielding delivery boy is getting a reboot – andI’ve applied for the role.

Yes, I’m only 5 foot 7 (5 foot 8 if I don’t slouch), look permanently exhausted and am getting increasingly squidgy round the edges.  But, if you look closely, aren’t many screen heroes really just flawed human beings rather than perfect specimens?  After all, take off the mask and Spider-man is really a gawky teenager, Batman is a recluse in desperate need of a Strepsil and don’t get me started on how many hours of therapy James Bond clearly needs.

So, with that in mind, here are some reasons why I believe that I should get the part:

  • I’m adventurous and daring. For instance, I once used a fake name in Starbucks and I sometimes stay in a supermarket car-park for longer than my allocated time.
  • As long as it’s not 100% acrylic, I’m almost certain that the black polo neck jumper won’t make me itch.
  • I can almost guarantee that the box of Milk Tray would be delivered to the lady in question with at least half of the chocolates still present and correct.
  • Ok, so I’ve never dodged sharks, jumped bridges or flown a helicopter (the latter two because I’m scared of heights, the former because I’d prefer not be torn limb from limb). However, I have safely carried a bunch of flowers for my wife from central London to Surrey via two tube lines and the 17:54 from Waterloo to Dorking – which is pretty much the same when you think about it.
  • Rather than terrify the lady who loves Milk Tray by abseiling into her bedroom window (and running the risk of a restraining order and pepper spray ruining the chocolates), I would be very British and knock politely yet apologetically.
  • I’m REAL (didn’t that whole ‘real’ schtick work for Zoella and her YouTube channel..?
  • I’m mature and yet still down with the kids (see above point).
  • Just like ridiculously skinny female models, I don’t think we should be giving young men an impossible vision of masculinity to live up to. Be more like me, an alternative and easily obtainable style of man without too much effort.
  • I believe in the product (especially the caramel fudge ones).
  • Modern cameras and lighting can hide your blocked pores these days.
  • My dodgy knee doesn’t give me grief ALL the time.
  • I’m happy to be paid in Milk Tray.

So, I want to do this. I want to strike a blow for short, mousey and tired over tall, dark and handsome. I want to show the world that modern heroes need not be hopeless visions of enhanced masculinity. I want to claim a victory for the simple man . Because, dear readers of this blog, I am a simple man. A simple man who just wants the chance to hold a box of chocolates whilst being filmed doing so.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to visit asos.com for some black trousers with that stretchy material…

The 2nd Annual Novice Dad’s Diary Awards

It’s been rather quiet at Novice Dad Towers in recent times, but is there a better way to blow off the cobwebs than with the 2nd Annual Novice Dad’s Diary Awards?

Come to think of it, it’s probably best that you don’t answer that. Instead, let’s just gather together to celebrate the winners, debate the hot topics from the world of parenting and all try to avoid John Travolta.

Most Ubiquitous TV Show: Topsy & Tim.

Whilst I am glad that her fascination with ‘In the Night Garden’ appears to have passed, ‘Topsy & Tim’ has since replaced Iggle Piggle & co. in my daughter’s consciousness with not so much of a vengeance, more like a desire to stamp out the very existence of every other TV show ever made. Don’t get me wrong, I have no objection to the show itself, despite the somewhat grating theme tune or the fact that adult actors are a bit too simpering for my liking and seem to deliver their lines with more than a hint of self-loathing. It’s just that the intense requests for its viewing are endless, whether at home or in the car. Incidentally, you’ll be able to catch me at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival this year, where my one-man show will act out (with full, unerring accuracy) the episode in which Topsy & Tim have nits.

Biggest Display of Masochism: Ted the cat.

Not actually Ted…or my garden.

Not actually Ted…or my garden.

People who have reading this blog since it’s pre-parenthood days (Hi, Mum and Dad) will know that I’m not really a fan of cats. However, I have since developed a sort of grudging admiration for Ted, the cat from two doors down. Ted regularly waits patiently in the garden for someone to return home before jumping onto the fence, then onto the slippery conservatory roof, eventually finding his way up to balance precariously on the top before somehow flinging his body onto the ledge of our daughter’s bedroom window, waiting to be eventually let in (it’s seemingly impossible to get back down from that position). He makes this perilous climb, of course, in the futile hope that he might be offered some food. However, this is not just where my admiration for him comes from. Mainly, it’s because he continually does all of this despite the constant harassment from my daughter when he finally makes it inside. There, he is continually chased, meddled with and subjected to the kind of ‘stroking’ that involves his torso being pushed down as if he were a cafetiere. So, this award goes to him. Respect,Ted.

Most irritating piece of marketing: ‘Tantrum’ Coconut Conditioner.

Ugh

Ugh

Never have I loathed a bath product more.

Best Horror Movie Re-enactment: The Happyland People.

Less happy, more creepy...

Less happy, more creepy…

The Happyland people are simple, contented folk. But, one evening, I found them placed like this in their little cottage. Why are they all facing out of the window? What are they looking at? What happened to the furniture? Why has it suddenly got colder in here?

The John Lewis Award for Emotionally Manipulative Advertising: Pampers.

Is it wrong to think that if Pampers really do believe in a better night’s sleep, they’d manufacture contraceptives instead?

Worst Bear Mask for a ‘We’re Going on a Bear-Hunt’ Theme Day: Me.

Hello, ladies...

Hello, ladies…

Clearly, Art was never my strongest subject at school and it somehow appears to have given me a double-chin (I swear that was never there before). On the bright side, at least I can also use this when I audition for the part of The Scarecrow in the next Batman movie.

Weirdest Smile: M.

For some reason, she has taken to baring her teeth and sticking out her chin when smiling, so it’s not an exaggeration when I say that recent pictures of our beautiful daughter have come out a little bit like this…

Wallace

Most Awkward Moment at Rhyme Time: Me.

One Saturday morning in May, M and I went to the monthly ‘Dad’s Rhyme Time’ at Dorking library. My previous experience of this was that everyone got involved with the singing and actions. So, you can imagine my embarrassment when I gingerly got up and returned to my seat, to looks of pity, after I found myself to be the only one of 10 dads acting out  ‘Sleeping bunnies’ amongst a group of toddlers.

Most Terrifying Childhood Companion: Rosie.

Don't look directly at her...

Don’t look directly at her…

The prophecy from last year has come true. Rosie, my wife’s bone-chillingly scary doll has become a favourite of our daughter. This is despite the evil flickering eye and air of silent menace. One evening, M pointed out: “Rosie is sleeping”. This, of course, was not true. Rosie doesn’t sleep, she waits.

Biggest Anti-climax: Freddie.

*Excited toddler’s voice from the conservatory*  “Daddy…Daddy…Daddy, come on…come ON. Come and see it, Daddy…COME ON!”

It was a dead fly.

Rest in peace, old friend. rest in peace...

Rest in peace, old friend. rest in peace…

I called him Freddie. It’s what he would have wanted.

Most Unfortunate Book Title:

Such innocent times.

Such innocent times.

I really don’t think I need to elaborate.

Biggest Misuse: This functional blue piece of plastic.

It's also had glitter put in it...

It’s also had glitter put in it…

So far, it has been variously used as a step, a hat or as additional storage space for any number of toys, hair clips or random jigsaw pieces. In case you were wondering, the potty training hasn’t quite gone according to plan so far.

Most Strictly-Enforced House Rule: No mixing…

Other playdoh makes are available.

Other playdoh makes are available.

Always put the recycling in the right bin? No. Don’t eat biscuits on the sofa? No. Don’t let cats in through the bedroom window? Sadly not. Instead, God help you if you ever mix together the different colours of playdoh.

Worst Purchase: The Jumper from Budapest.

It's got a lamb and a rain cloud on the back.

It’s got a lamb and a rain cloud on the back.

I was in Budapest recently and, with encouragement from two of my colleagues, brought this Hungarian-style jumper back for M. The look of “seriously?” on my wife’s face was the most damning assessment of one of my purchases since the whole Tottenham Hotspur Babygro incident. To add further insult, the poor bear has been practically ignored as well.

Saddest Balloons: Istanbul airport.

You’ll have to take my word for this but, just inside the entrance to the terminal at Istanbul Ataturk airport there are approximately a dozen brightly-coloured balloons – all adorned with Mickey Mouse, Minions or the characters from ‘Frozen’, forlornly stuck at the terminal ceiling. As my boss pointed out: “It’s quite upsetting when you think that there was probably a crying child for each one of those”.

Nicest Surprise:

This greeted me when I got back from Turkey. I’m not always cynical, you know 🙂

Welcome home

Want more? Really? Take a trip down memory lane by looking back at last year’s awards.

A Christmas song

On the first day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me: Some toe-fluff from between her feet.

On the second day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me: Two wet wipes and some toe-fluff from between her feet.

On the third day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me: Three dead leaves, two wet wipes and some toe-fluff from between her feet.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me: Four random socks, three dead leaves, two wet wipes and some toe-fluff from between her feet.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me: FIVE POM-BEARS. Four random socks, three dead leaves, two wet wipes and some toe-fluff from between her feet.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me: Six squashed bananas, FIVE POM-BEARS. Four random socks, three dead leaves, two wet wipes and some toe-fluff from between her feet.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me: Seven scribbled drawings, six squashed bananas, FIVE POM-BEARS. Four random socks, three dead leaves, two wet wipes and some toe-fluff from between her feet.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me: Eight blunted crayons, seven scribbled drawings, six squashed bananas, FIVE POM-BEARS. Four random socks, three dead leaves, two wet wipes and some toe-fluff from between her feet.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me: Nine snotty tissues, eight blunted crayons, seven scribbled drawings, six squashed bananas, FIVE POM-BEARS. Four random socks, three dead leaves, two wet wipes and some toe-fluff from between her feet.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me: Ten cartoon stickers, nine snotty tissues, eight blunted crayons, seven scribbled drawings, six squashed bananas, FIVE POM-BEARS. Four random socks, three dead leaves, two wet wipes and some toe-fluff from between her feet.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me: Eleven fridge magnets, ten cartoon stickers, nine snotty tissues, eight blunted crayons, seven scribbled drawings, six squashed bananas, FIVE POM-BEARS. Four random socks, three dead leaves, two wet wipes and some toe-fluff from between her feet.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me: Twelve Christmas baubles, eleven fridge magnets, ten cartoon stickers, nine snotty tissues, eight blunted crayons, seven scribbled drawings, six squashed bananas, FIVE POM-BEARS. Four random socks, three dead leaves, two wet wipes and some toe-fluff from between her feet.

Merry Christmas, Everyone 🙂

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Eternal sunshine of the toddler’s mind

What could she be hinting at?

As my daughter has got more independent, mobile and interactive, I’ve often found myself wondering exactly what is going on inside her head. For instance, she spends a lot of time just wandering around holding random objects with such a determined sense of purpose, but her motives appear amusingly unfathomable. Given that she can’t verbally express herself in the way she would like (and the fact that she’s not allowed to play with pens ever since the whole ‘drawing on her own face’ incident), I’ve had a guess at what her various thought processes might have been over the last couple of weeks:

Wednesday 30th April. Woke up, had breakfast, pointed at lots of stuff, walked around picking up objects, dropped them, repeatedly attempted to climb the stairs, pulled down various books and DVDs from low shelving, ate most of my lunch but threw the rest on the floor, had a nap, ATE A BANANA, drank some milk, went to the park, toddled around in random directions, came home, tried to clamber into the recycling bin, had dinner, had more milk, had a bath, used a sponge to soak the bathroom floor, had a book about owl babies read to me, kicked up a fuss when it was time for bed. Standard.

Thursday 1st May. WORST. DAY. EVER. I should have realised something was up because the parents had been nervously talking about something called the ‘Emmemmaarrjab’ and Daddy was working from home today. At lunchtime, they took me to a brightly lit place that smelt vaguely of TCP, where they lulled me into a false sense of security by letting me play with different toys to the ones I have at home, whilst they sat around reading magazines about property and gardens. However, I was then taken into a room to be held tightly by the parents whilst two people I’ve never met before put injections into my legs. They hurt, so I screamed, wriggled and sweated A LOT. Post-injections, one of the people I’d never met tried to put my discarded sock back on me, so I shouted and kicked out at them. Telling me that I was “stronger than a lot of boys” didn’t help. Afterwards, the parents looked rather upset and kept saying to each other how hard they found the whole experience, whilst cuddling me and telling me it will be ok. So, THEY found it hard? Well, TRY HAVING THREE SHARP OBJECTS STABBED INTO YOUR LIMBS IN QUICK SUCCESSION AND SEE HOW YOU LIKE IT.

Friday 2nd May. I’m still not over the trauma of yesterday, so I refuse to engage happily with the parents or even make eye contact, let alone give them a smile or a cudd…wait, is that their breakfast? Hi!

Saturday 3rd May. Went to a big party today with the parents and my auntie. The birthday boy was 5 and there were lots of older children in bright items of clothing called ‘superhero costumes’. Not to be deterred by this, I announced my presence by repeatedly walking right into the middle of the fun and games, often dragging a large plastic chair with me (just to emphasise the point that I was there to be entertained). It was great fun and the food was good, especially the cheese-based stuff. For some reason, Daddy seemed very excited about colourful, edible objects called ‘party rings’. I can’t take him anywhere.

After food, we went outside where there was a large play area with swings and slides. I love these things, but the parents still won’t let me climb back up the slide. They’ve been funny about that ever since we went to soft play.

Sunday 4th May. Today’s goal: Pull out every possible item of my clothing from the box next to my cot, chew the sock-ons, drop the bibs through the gaps in the stair gate, put some leggings over my head and leave the rest lying at random intervals upstairs. Whilst I’m at it, I’ll also remove the plug-in air freshener, spilling the liquid over myself as well as everything I come into contact with. Nobody will want to go within a mile of anything that smells like ‘Evening Primrose’ ever again.

Monday 5th May. Today was a bank holiday, which appears to be an excuse for a massive skive. Anyway, I went for a long walk with the parents today and had a picnic in a large field. They let me have a run around as well. I thought I’d have a bit of fun by toddling towards piles of sheep poo, waiting for them to quickly try and catch up with me before veering away from the poo at the last second. I also kept pointing at the sky on random occasions. Fools – they looked every time.

Tuesday 6th May. I’ve got the sniffles AGAIN. It’s very uncomfortable and apparently I need to have drops put into my nose to relieve the snot. I hate those drops and I assumed that stuff was supposed to be coming out of my nose, not going back in? Anyway, I’m making my displeasure known by coughing loudly into the face of anyone who picks me up.

Wednesday 7th May. Still feeling poorly, although the viscous blackcurrant-flavoured liquid that the parents have been giving me has soothed the cough a fair bit. Memo to self: when older, develop a banana-flavoured cough remedy and, after I’m rich, use the proceeds to buy tonnes of actual bananas.

I did feel well enough to play with my wooden ‘Noah’s Ark’ toy, though. The parents like to keep all the pieces together, but I find it much more interesting to put Mrs.Noah and at least one of the giraffes on top of the radiator. I think they enjoy it there; it’s nice and warm.

Thursday 8th May. Today’s goal: Try and reach the remaining parts of the television screen that I haven’t yet managed to smear with my fingerprints. Problem: I can’t reach. The parents say that I’m due a growth spurt, so I hope that this happens before bedtime.

Update: No growth spurt before bedtime. The clean part of the television screen remains un-smeared. This is my Everest.

Friday 9th May. Today was the first day in ages that I’ve not had a single banana – disgraceful. The pear replacement service simply doesn’t cut it. I might call Esther Rantzen.

Saturday 10th May. Mummy had to work today, so Daddy put me in the baby carrier and took me for a walk in the countryside. It would have been lovely if he had managed to put my shoes on properly so that they didn’t keep slipping off. I’d also have preferred it if he had looked at the weather forecast and put our raincoats on before we left, so that we didn’t get drenched on the way back. Plus, the clambering over that gate (twice) was rather uncoordinated and awkward. At least the view either side of his head was nice.

Sunday 11th May. The parents were watching something called ‘The Eurovision Song Contest’ last night. According to the news this morning, this contest was won by a lady with a beard. So many questions…

In other (much less competent) singing news, the parents have been adding their own verses to ‘Wheels on the bus’ by using different noises and voices. As fun as this is, I can’t imagine a scenario whereby Elvis, a pack of seagulls and any number of elephants would be on the same bus all at once.

Monday 12th May. Why does society dictate that both feet should either have socks on or socks off? I find it much better to walk around with just the one sock on and I therefore laugh in the face of your draconian sartorial principles.

Tuesday 13th May. Daddy didn’t get home until well after midnight as he was out at a concert. Despite his pitiful efforts to keep quiet, my peaceful slumber was briefly disturbed, so I decided to wake up at 5.30am this morning. That’ll teach him.

The Novice Dad’s Diary Awards

 

IMG_2103Ladies and Gentlemen, it is with great pride that I bring to you the first annual Novice Dad’s Diary Awards. The awards have come a long way from their origin as an over-caffeinated idea on the 17:54 train from Waterloo, so I am delighted that they are now a reality (of sorts). It is an especially satisfying moment following the bitter and protracted legal battle that occurred between this blog and a well-known brand of sauce, simply because I initially wanted to call them the ‘Daddies’.

Anyway, despite the lack of an esteemed celebrity host (Stacey Solomon wouldn’t return my calls), it’s time to grab a glass of follow-on milk and congratulate the winners.

Best Song or Rhyme: Old MacDonald had a farm.

An undisputed classic. Simple melody, great fun and you can make it up as you go along, especially if you have a plethora of cuddly toys at your disposal. Plus, who needs one of those brain ‘workout’ puzzles when you have to simultaneously sing and remember what noises a rabbit makes.

Most Depressing Song or Rhyme: Puff the magic dragon.

IMG_2090

I used to love this, until I looked up the lyrics again a few months ago. Putting aside the rumoured and rather unsubtle drug references, Puff was very happy living by the sea in a land called Honah Lee, roaring and frolicking in the autumn mist with his friend. Then, one day, his friend just stopped coming to see him, apparently because painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys. From then on, the remainder of Puff’s long life was spent living in a cave, sad and lonely. Stay happy, kids!

Also nominated: Three Blind Mice, Rock-a-Bye Baby, Five Little Ducks (nominated before I learnt that all of the ducks did eventually come back).

Worst Place to Change a Nappy: Train toilets.

More specifically, a dirty toilet on a speeding, jerky train, which also has one of those cubicle doors that just decides to slide open whenever it feels like it. Hand sanitizer gel may kill 99.9% of bacteria, but it won’t erase the trauma from your mind. Nor does it relieve the travel sickness.

Also nominated: Box Hill car park.

Best Product: Nappy bins

IMG_2087

I’ll be honest. Before our daughter was born, I practically bristled at the very idea of having a large poo receptacle in our house. Now, I can’t even begin to imagine the alternative horror of endless plastic bags, used baby wipes stuck to my clothes and searching on the internet for the cost of regularly fumigating the house.

Also Nominated: ‘Sock-ons’, teething granules.

Worst Product: Swaddling wraps.

I’m sure they’re great if being used to contain a plastic baby Jesus for the entirety of a nativity play but, in my experience, they’re not so great if you are trying to swaddle a real-life baby who would like to move her legs more than a few millimetres.

Also Nominated: Variable-flow teats, babygros with too many buttons (unless you happen to work as part of a Formula 1 pit crew).

Most Terrifying Potential Companion: Rosie.

IMG_2096

Rosie is my wife’s childhood doll, who has made an appearance on this blog before, due to her sunken eyes, demonic twitch and general demeanour of pure, unadulterated evil. Naturally, I hope that M never takes a liking to her. There was only ever one winner of this award, partly because all of the other nominees either mysteriously vanished or were found chopped into pieces on the patio.

Also nominated: May they rest in peace.

Most Baffling Technology: The CDs that insert your child’s name into each song.

IMG_2092

Genuine question – do they actually record the same song over again, replacing the name each time? How many versions is that? How many ‘takes’ is that? Is it recording studio trickery? Doesn’t it make the singer go insane? I’ve spent far too much time thinking about this.

Best Display of Patience: The lady next to me on our flight to Seville in November. I’ve mentioned this stoic hero before, but this award is well deserved. There can be few things more annoying when you’re trying to sleep on an aircraft than being repeatedly hit on the nose with a small plastic duck. Unfortunately, our winner could not be here this evening, so the duck is accepting the award on her behalf.

IMG_2095The Multiple Essentials Award: Bibs.

I’m not necessarily saying that our daughter dribbles a lot, but there’s more than one reason why the flooding was really bad in Surrey this winter.

Also nominated: Baby wipes, toy mice.

The John Lewis Award for Emotionally Manipulative Advertising. SMA Follow-On Milk.

“We ARE doing great”…

The Occasionally Tasty Baby Food Award: ‘Goodies’ Organic Apple and Orange Soft Oaty Bars.

IMG_2094Whilst only a few steps away from stealing candy from a baby, these are a useful alternative if you’re desperate for pudding on a Sunday night, the local shops are closed and you haven’t got any eggs for an emergency sponge.

Also nominated: Heinz baby porridge (blueberry flavour).

Most Cack-Handed Attempt at Putting on a Baby Backpack: Me.

IMG_2089

After numerous unsuccessful attempts in a Dorking car park, I eventually managed to lift both daughter and backpack onto my shoulders, all the while arching my back as if I was avoiding bullets in ‘The Matrix’. I briefly caught M’s reflection in the car window as she was being hoisted up for the final time. She did not look impressed.

The Matthew McConaughey Award for Pointing: Our daughter.

This award was named in honour of everyone’s favourite Oscar-winning Texan who seems to mark every statement with a jabbing forefinger thrust. M takes herself far less seriously, but that hasn’t stopped her from continuously pointing at everything, anything and sometimes absolutely nothing at all. This one’s for you, Poppet.

The Excessive Competitiveness Award: My wife.

Picture the scene: It’s Christmas and our 8-month old daughter is mastering the basics of crawling. My wife joins her, presumably in order to provide encouragement. Instead, she proceeds to race our daughter across the living room floor and wins comfortably. Mrs. D then raises her hands aloft at the victory. On that most festive of days, a monster was awoken.

Most Aero-Dynamic Breakfast: Porridge

Also nominated: Weetabix.

The Makeshift Chair Award: A shoebox.

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By my side of the bed in the corner of our bedroom lies a shoebox, where M likes to sit and reflect whilst bringing all manner of things with her, as if she were a little blonde magpie. ‘Gifts’ that have been left there in recent weeks include various bibs and socks, a pair of pants, a contact lens container, my glasses, My wife’s watch, a hair clip and, bizarrely, an empty jar of harissa paste from the recycling bin.

So, that’s it for the awards this time around. Thank you for your company, but it’s time for me to head off to Elton John’s after-show party. I just hope he doesn’t get drunk, maudlin and start singing ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’.

(Almost) a year on: snot, steps and stairs

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Our little daughter is now only a few weeks away from turning 1. Being possibly influenced by the fact that I’m married to a teacher (and also because I decided upon the lazy idea of another list-based blog post), I thought that it was time for her first report card.

Etiquette:

One Sunday morning a couple of weeks ago, I was sitting on the sofa watching M happily play with her toys, when she crawled over, grabbed my knee to hold on as she stood up before vigorously wiping her snotty nose across my leg. As if that wasn’t enough, she then proceeded to break out in a big, cheesy grin as if she’d never been more proud of herself. Clearly, there’s room for improvement here. E-

Sporting Prowess:

A+ for persistence. D- for awareness. The reason I include this second mark is because M’s current sporting event of choice involves the stairs, a part of our home that she is developing something of an obsession with. Now, before I say any more, I’d just like to clarify that my wife and I have a gate at the top of the stairs, but not the bottom. We also like to let her explore in general, but always keep an eye on her and stay very close whenever she heads towards the stairs during those times when we haven’t used her toy basket to block her passage to them. What I’m trying to say is that there’s no need to call social services.

Anyway, her event goes as follows:

Clamber quickly up the first two steps. Slowly climb the third. Tentatively navigate the fourth. Realise that it’s actually quite high. Stand up. Turn around whilst holding the bannisters for balance. Grin through the bannisters. Face away from the stairs. Grin again. Do some weird squat-thrust-type movements whilst making “ooo” “ooo” noises (presumably for extra technical points). Hold arms out. Fall into daddy’s arms and make an “ahrarr” noise that may either be a laugh or a baby-talk version of R Kelly’s ‘I believe I can fly’. Repeat ad nauseum.

Although I’m obviously making sure she is safe, I realise that I am also inadvertently encouraging this game at the same time. This must be one of those ‘Catch-22’ moments of parenthood.

Sporting Prowess Module 2 – Teamwork:

I attempted to share the excitement of team sports with her by setting up a mini rugby game whilst the 6 nations was on, with M and myself playing against the intimidating opposition in the picture below.

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It didn’t quite work, as the picture was taken in the 10-second window before the goalposts were knocked down by my team-mate. She didn’t even take the ball with her. And yes, I know that Twickenham doesn’t have a radiator behind the try-line. D-

Motor Skills:

Pretty good for her age, although she has trouble reaching the clutch pedal and doesn’t tend to indicate when approaching a roundabout. B+

Talking:

She’s usually very chatty, unless she is in an unfamiliar situation or meets someone she doesn’t know, in which case she just performs the obligatory ‘child stare’. When she’s comfortable and happy though, the sounds and non-words are many, ranging from “wawawawa”, “shzrrrrr” and “ahoooo” to an occasional disturbing throaty gargle that makes her sound like a gremlin. Even though it’s far too early for a first word, sounds that are similar to words sometimes take us aback. Given her unbridled enthusiasm when given one, I’m convinced that her eventual first word will be “banana”. A-

Physical Development:

Her crawling is surprisingly quick, especially when It comes to making a beeline for the aforementioned stairs, or random parts of the floor that may still hold some dropped banana from earlier.

Standing is pretty much conquered, although she does tend to hold on to something in order to steady herself, mostly my or my wife’s legs. As adorable as this is, it’s also rather inconvenient should you want to, you know, move. She’s making good progress with the walking too and, for some reason; she saves her best efforts for when out in public. It’s quite amusing to watch the slight panic in other people’s faces when she starts tottering towards them like a drunk in high winds. B+

Emotional Development:

She’s started to have her first few tantrums. Most of the time, this can be quite maddening as, so far, they’ve tended to be due to the fact that we’ve blocked her path to the stairs or that it’s time for her to go to bed but she would much prefer to stay up and stick her fingers in our food before going over to wipe them on the television. On the odd occasion however, it can actually be quite amusing. A couple of days ago, she was having fun with her baby-walker before the wall brought an abrupt end to her journey across the living room. Upset that she couldn’t go any further, she proceeded to look cross, babble loudly in frustration and throw her arms down in disgust. Whilst this instance may have been quite funny, I doubt I’ll find the majority of tantrums over the next 18 years quite as comical. C+

Sleeping:

Much like a football manager who is only as good as their last result, M’s sleeping pattern only seems as good or as bad as the previous night.  On the whole, she is actually quite good, but the one consistent is that she saves her most unsettled nights for Sundays. As this is right before the start of the working week, the disruption is about as welcome as a fart in a crowded lift. C+

Teeth:

B+. Eight of them so far, all causing considerable pain when you get them clamped round your finger whilst trying to administer her teething granules, which I suppose is rather ironic.

Bathtime:

Hates her hair being washed, repeatedly tries to stand up in the tub, grabs and chews the sponge, hates the sponge being taken off her, hits me in the face with the sponge and squeezes the water from it outside the tub, making me arguably wetter than her. All of which is much to her delight. Rubber ducks and her own toothbrush are only an occasionally effective distraction technique. D+

Social Interaction:

Very sociable once she’s figured people out. Possibly a little too sociable with other babies and children especially, as she gets rather ‘hands-on’ with them. Which reminds me that we need to clip her nails even more regularly. She’s like Wolverine. B+

Eating and drinking:

Breakfast tends to be messy. Many years from now, when we’ve long-since moved, the next owners of our house will still be finding mysterious pieces of encrusted, flung porridge in random parts of the kitchen.

On the plus side, we’ve been combining milk with weaning onto solids for a while now and M doesn’t seem to be at all picky. She even loves cauliflower cheese, which proves that there must be something wrong with her taste buds. Trying to give her water after meals is a struggle though, as she just uses it as mouthwash before spitting it out and wearing a look that can only be described as ‘contemptuous’. B+

Inquisition:

Seemingly wants to know about EVERYTHING. Current objects of fascination include mobile phones, the stairs, the TV remote, any toggles on an item of clothing, the stairs, anything stacked up on shelves that can be knocked down (books, DVDs etc.), the washing machine, the stairs, the door stop holding open the kitchen door, any food that you happen to be eating, any drink that you happen to be drinking, the stairs, the tumble dryer, anything that happens to be between her and the stairs, her own socks (still). As lovely as her curiosity is, it’s also incredibly exhausting when you have to pick her up and direct her away from the bin for the umpteenth time that afternoon. A-

Musicality:

C+. She’s obviously not writing her first concerto or breaking out the MC Hammer-style moves yet, but M does enjoy music and watching people dance and sing. This is surprising, given that I have a singing voice that sounds like a seal being clubbed to death. In fact, it’s even worse than this:

Storytelling:

C+. Enjoys being read to, providing she’s not wriggling away and trying to get to the stairs again. She also seems to enjoy telling the odd story herself as well. A couple of weeks ago, I picked her up from the child-minder for the first time. On the way home, she was babbling away in the back of the car as if telling me all about her day. It was strangely emotional.

Her thesis on the industrial revolution:

Ungraded. She’s still working on the introduction. It’s very shoddy work, if I’m honest.