Wolfman

Week 6 and we're discovering the joys of a boy with a little head cold (hence the appearance of a new persona - Mr Grizzly) and the emergence of twin witching hours - the ever traditional 5pm to 8pm, and now a bonus for mum after dad leaves for work - a 7:30am till 9:30am. Bugger.

But theres also been the discovery by mum and dad that all the lullabys and sweet blues tunes they've been singing to Master M are worth diddly. And we don't mean Bo. Mike's announced to the world that he's no music girly-man - he likes a bollocking good dose of Wolfmother. The louder the better. (Maybe it's just admiration of their screaming levels...)

Clearly this is one of the signs that he actually is swimming in the AB gene pool (AB still carries a Deep Purple ticket in his wallet from about 1996 - you cant actually read it anymore, but he reckons he knows what it is...), contrary to a number of friendly observations of his obvious resemblance to Mistress P's fine featured face, hands and assorted body parts.

As further evidence he's not the postman's son (Mistress P notes our postman is actually a postwoman... "don't ruin a good story with the facts" says AB), uncle Jim has noted a remarkable similarity between Master M's twisty little toe and his own slightly spiraled metatarsal. How cool is that bit of sideways genetics..?

Mike has also suddenly taken a great liking to tummy-time. Whereas he used to just flop rag-doll forward and grizzle into the mat, he's now lifting his head like it was something he was born to do. We're not sure if the new found enjoyment of tummy-time isn't also partly related to his discovery of the gastronomic delight that is licking the aforementioned mat, but we rather wish it wasn't. "Change mat" and "good old tongue clean" are a couple of aspects of parenting we had hoped to keep somewhat separate.

Still, he's getting a stiff strong neck out of it all, and hence not only will he be able to prevent himself from asphyxiating if he rolls over one day (he has already done so once on the couch...), he will soon be able to pilot an F1 car round a 3 lateral G corner.

Speaking of future earning potential,... errr good nature friendly sporting activities, Mike has had his first ever day of beach bumming, down at Rye on a howling 30 knot northerly hanging with all those good-fer-nuthin windsurf louts. He got to stand on a little 49cm wide speed board, have sand blast into what hair he has left, go for a long wander/roll along the foreshore with Mistress P and unplain-Jane, and even have a sleep (with mum) in the back of the car.

Highlight was clearly going down to the waters edge and watching mum have her first windsurf (see pic below) since January and Coronation Beach, Western Australia. Sure, she just played on imaginary waves, but she was clearly slashin' (dude) and impressed.

Lowlight was probably having a man (lets call him,... errr.... dad) wearing a nappy of his own ("Hey, its a seat harness!") wiping your bum in the back of the car in full view of tourist-heavy Beach Rd, Rye.

Still, it all proves life doesn't have to change completely. And that imprinting can never happen too early. (Windsurfing and beach good; Brown-eying traffic - while fun - not so good.)

Anyway, thats about it for a week that involved a little less sleep (but a bit more fun) than usual.



Footnote: The sleep bit, or lack of it, was arguably best demonstrated by Mistress P staggering and stumbling off to to bed at 9pm, totally buggered, and in the process Fraudianly combining the phrases/words "I'm wrecked" and "I'm cactus" into:

"I'm erectus...".

Oh dear.

Postscript: After a weekend of worst-sleeps so far, he outdid himself, in the opposite sense, with a one-pitstop-only Monday night. Bwilliant! Maybe people are right about that 6 week hurdle... Print this post