The only difference between men and boys....

...is the size of their toys.

Week 10 and the boy has continued in the amazing progression from screaming sack with arms and leg into a individual human being with personality. Granted still with a fair degree of screaming ability. And arms and legs.

His latest discovery is play. For the first time he's actually realising that theres more to life than sleep and boobs. For some men this realisation takes closer to 30+ years, but the advanced nature of this lad means all it has taken is a dangling horsey mobile and a Lamaze buzzy bee. He's fascinated, if not fixated.

Almost as much as when Mistress P wears her flouro lime green PJ's with sparklyblue stars. The boy's been known to slip into such a trance-like state staring at said stars during a beast feed that he looses the ability to drink... Sadly this may indicate a future career as an astrophysicist (bugger... cos we want him to be a carpenter)... or may just be a sign of his masculinity (i.e., low level of multitasking ability.)

He's also continued with the lifestyle of the rich and famous, via membership of the mothers club, swanning about cafes all over Bayside. Dad reckons its less of a parents group and more of a pram pushing locust plague, descending upon unsuspecting cafe's and devouring all in their path with ravenous glee and a shrill twitter of delight(/rubbing their back legs together). He reckons he can almost hear the screams of innocent baristas being devoured from as far away as Docklands.

Despite the carnage, theres still been time for Master M's first journey out to the mountain bike course at Lysterfield (home of the Commonwealth Games MTB'ing), not so much for a ride but more a push along the gravel tracks around the lake. Appreciation was shown by falling asleep for the entire time. Which is something he is getting a lot better at, and has even slept through the entire night for the second time now. Which is a lot better than mum could do - she was up and out of bed at 5am despite the boys sleep in, and scaring the bejeezus out of dad when he crept up in the dark to head off to work.

"The boys asleep - what you doing out of bed?" startled AB.

"I wet it".

After an offer to buy a bag of bigger nappies, it turned out that no, it was not of the wee-wee variety, but rather a steady soaking mammalian trickle from the undrained bazoongas. Curse you mother nature... have you no mercy for the sleepless?!?

Still, life has settled into a partial routine, and new things are being learnt at such a rapid rate that emails to dad at work are required to keep him in the loop. Cos working dads miss out.

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From: Mistress P
Date: 25-Jun-2007 12:17
Subject: FW: Infant CPR info session [SEC=UNCLASSIFIED]

Mike had a great play session today - I lowered the horsies so he could reach them and he listened to the whole ABC nursery rhyme CD while batting them on his back. Apparently babies can roll from this age, so I thought it was good for him to lie flat on the mat for a bit. (He also did some good tummy and nappy free time on the change table while he had his flannel wash earlier) We then played peek-a-boo while I was in the shower and he was in his rocker... he didn't quite know what to do with the michael duck {toy rubber ducky} though... then he sat in his rocker in the lounge and batted the buzzzy bee - even pulling the rings up to his mouth - while I tried expressing. He then showed tired signs, even though he manfully kept trying to play with the toy, so, after a few grizzles trying to settle him in his cot I settled on the sling, a brief walk around the deck and he is now fast asleep on my chest as I type on the couch.

How things have changed.

For the better.

Month x 2

Well its happened.

At the ripe ole age of 2 months and one day, Master M has brought the biggest smile to his mothers face in weeks. (And theres been a helluva lot of smiles.)

Reason: he slept right through the night. Yup... put down at 10:45pm, not up till 6:45am, giving mum 8 hours of blissful slumber for the first time in over 8 weeks. Or at least near enough to 8 hours - a quicky dash about for some booby-pads in the wee small hours due to overfull and leaking milk cans put a mini-break in there. But we're counting it as a sleep through.

All this sleeping may well have something to do with the partyboy lifestyle he's been leading of late. Not content with taking mum off to his girlfriend Freya's "welcome to the world"/2 month-old party on Friday night, he insisted on raging again with mum on Saturday, this time at mum's friend Megan's 30th.

Dad, on the other hand, moped about all weekend with the first virus of the winter. (Boooo winter.) On the downside he was put on the quarantine couch away from Master M, though on the plusside this meant a weekend off nappy duty. (He reckons - and many may find this hard to believe - the downside far outweighs the plus: he wants to hold the boy.) The solution for mum... get herself a massage with friends of course, while the amazing great aunty Jill and uncle Ray took Master M for a walk on the one sweet promenade down St Kilda way.

Eight hours sleep and a massage. Nirvana.

The week also saw Master M's first brush with the workplace. After making yet another trip to the airport, Mistress P and Master M made a surprise visit to dads salt mine... just in time for a few chunks of Ms B's cherry ripe slice (Mmmmmmm chheeeerrry riiipe sliceeee...) and chocolate cake, courtesy of a colleagues farewell. (How good is that?) This meant that everyone was standing about and chatting and buzzing on a sugar high, and also meant that mid conversation a workmate leaned forward and announced to AB:
"Shouldnt you recognise that sound by now?"
when the boy was brought through the door.

Its amazing how many people you've never had a chance to chat to in the workplace leap into deep and meaningfuls like long lost friends when you're holding your boy.

A feed and change was soon required, which necessitated our first visit to... the family room. This mythical place actually did exist; and quite flash too. As AB started changing young Mike, Mistress P noted the pickel he'd be in if said son did the old wee-wee or ejectile poo trick onto dads workclobber just prior to an afternoon meeting, so slapped a bib on dad instead. All class.

The other big highlight of the week was the 2 month check up. The vital stats:

• weight 5.40 kg (bit over 50th percentile)
• length 59 cm (75th percentile)
• head circumference 40cm
• posterior fontanelle closed
• anterior fontanelle open

So all up... doing very well indeed umpire. Long and a bit thin for length (just like dad as a boy) and a hole still in the front of his skull - which is actually completely normal - the front bit doesnt close over till 18months or so, while the back bit closes over in the first 8 weeks.

Party boy chick magnet super model. Who likes a sleep. Thats our boy.

big trip

Its hard to believe that Mike's nearly (in 4 days) two months old. Already.

Groundhog day can do that to you.

But being 8 weeks old means that its time a lad was oot and aboot, exploring the big wide world. And hence, being the staunch monarchist that he is, it was decided to celebrate the Queens Birthday (actually its King George III's birthday, but lets not get overly pedantic)/ski season opening long weekend with...

A trip to the beach.

As is the want of the family, Sandy Point it was once again. Grand ideas of a windsurf were scuttled when the only wind for the weekend came from Master Mikes poopchute, and hence the three days mostly constisted of lots of walking along the beach, around the town, to the playground, and along the road to Shallow Inlet and back. The latter walk is some 7km round trip, but the advantages of breast feeding meant that a pit stop and refuel could be had on a picnic table by the inlets edge, in amongst the tea tree and flittering superb fairy wrens. Bootiful.

One of the great Sandy Point pluses is the ocean beach at low tide. Its long and wide and firm, making it perfect for beach cricket, crazy landsailing and the apparently new Sandy sport of competative pram pushing. For evidence of the current baby boom you need look no further than Sandy beach - prams were everywhere, and if you didnt have a bug-a-boo megadollar thingy you were apparently not in the race. (We have a 4 wheeler "sports buggy" - proudly made in New Zealand of their finest, and apparently heaviest, steel, and hence needs an All Black front row to actually push it through deep sand. That said, put it on the Waratah Bay beach below the high tide mark, with associated cement like sand, and shes flying...)

The other joy of a weekend away is sharing it with friends. In this case ones with an 11-month old and ones who are still "practising". (Regularly.) This being our first trip away with Master Mike and others, it was a steep learning curve. For instance, we never realised how much he cried until every time he did so, we'd leap up and panic that he was annoying and/or awakening everyone in the house. (At home we're often happy to let him bellow for a while if we know nothing is wrong.) Of course everyone else was probably noticing about a tenth of what we did, but try telling yourself that when the walls are echoing at 3am...

That said, the cool sea air also gave him his longest uninterrupted nights sleep to date. From 9pm to 4:30am. Thats 7.5 hours straight... Crikey! Plus he travelled a treat. The bit-over-2 hour drive down was done fully asleep, and the return voyage was only interrupted by a little bit of grizzling near the world famous (if you're an asparagus worshipper: which we're not - it makes our wee smell) Koo Wee Rup, which was easily solved by some rousing renditions from the "Australia's Best Beer Ballads" CD...

But its no longer all grizzles and sleep for the lad. He has also, just in the past week, made two steps forward that to us are a joy, but to others might seem ho-hum.

Firstly, he's started to smile - and not just when he's pushing out a big Mr Hankey, but when he is genuinely happy with the world. Its heart melting stuff when he looks at you and grins (without then pooping himself) - worth the price of admission alone.

And secondly, he's discovered other babies. There was that one at Sandy, who looked bigger and dribblier, and who stared back occasionally and sometimes tried to hold hands/slap us about. And then theres the one in the mirror. He's wierd and a bit hard to fathom, cos he's being held by mum/dad at the same time, and is always looking us sraight in the eye. Thatta one is most confusing.

So that was it for the first big trip away. A little nerve wracking for mum and dad at times (but still great fun), a whole lotta new experiences for the boy (sand dunes, bush tracks, red capped dotterals, BBQ's, beez neez beer (or at least the smell of it), baby toys, sleeping in mum and dads bedroom again, beach driving (dam yabby-pump holes!), heavy rain, burnt toast, log fires, and cold bathrooms) and another step along the road to normality. (Whatever that is now!)

It was then back home to the joys of the first big vaccination experience. Family headed down to the health care place to be greeted by a dozen-plus other screaming tots, some waiting for the pin cushioning and some in their mandatory 15 minutes recovery session, and a cupla mums (and their support team hubbies) from the Wednesday mothers group. It was actually quite a social. Until...

Two shots in one leg (Hepatitus B and Diphtheria/TetanusPertussis/Polio), and one shot in the other (Pneumococcal).

Mum couldn't watch, Dad held his arms, Doctor went the needle and Mike yelled like a banshee - for about 5 seconds per jab and then just sat back, went
"So thats all ya got ya pussies??"
and fell asleep.

They breed 'em tough in the Baghdad-end of Hampton.

Fully sick

We have a little boy with a little cold - still.

And as babies this young cant breathe through both their mouth and their nose at the same time, it really pisses 'im orf, and leads to the occasional bought of bellowing. Hence AB now sings him a new lullaby, "Screamer" - to the tune of "Dreamer" by Supertramp, with accompanying hand actions:

Screeeeeeamer/Yer Nuthin but a Screeeeeamer/Can you put your hands on your head?/Oh no!

(Dad doesnt know any more of the lyrics so monotonously repeats above... but it is true he cant put his hands on his head.)

Even with the cold and Mr Grizzly status, we have to admit Master M does spend more and more time now just sitting and gazing at the world quite happily - as opposed to the first cupla weeks when he would sit and gaze quite happily... for about 5 seconds, then realising what a terrifying place this brave new world was, would burst into screams and demand to be put back in the belly.

But there is now also the new persona to add to the list. Mr Snuffleupagus. As Master Mike sleeps away you can hear the snotty breathing from across the room. If not the street. Poor little tike.

Add to that he's drinking like a fish, which is good for the cold but bad for the laundry. Cos he is also becoming somewhat adept at having a great big white milk chunk chuck afterwards.

"Oh no... he's Fully Sick" cries mum.

Which dad now knows (and if this isn't a sign of the times we don't know what is) that this is not a reference to burnouts in a Valiant or being fat and cheesy, but is a call to grab a new jumpsuit and wipe-up nappy, and to get swabbing on the curd.

The other clear sign of the times was dads cycling fashion faux pa. In the cool gloom of morning... (grrr.... winter... if it wasnt for snow we'd hate it (even more) ), with lights turned down so as not to wake anyone in the house, AB scrounges his cycling gear and tip toes out for the ride to work.

Arrives in the change room @ work.

"Mate, you get dressed in the dark?"

"Err.... i did actually..." replies AB, as he follows his fellow cyclists gaze down to two totally different socked feet.

Still letting sleeping babies lie is the call of the day when they're not feeling all that well. And sleep he does now, not in a sissy little girly basinette in mum and dads room, but Master Mike has made the leap into big-boy land. Or at least a cot in his own room. Which is kinda cute as he snuggles down with his feet touching the end (its a SIDS thing), leaving 3/5 of the cot empty. He has even learnt to settle himself to sleep if placed in bed alert and awake.

Being past 6 weeks now, Mistress P and Master Mike had the mythical 6 week check up. And the diagnosis... Mum is doing great, with a quicker-than-average flattening belly and not unusually still-sore coxic. About all she is suffering from now is a small lack-of-family, and hence the ability to get some time to scratch herself. Hence she's enlisted the girl from across the street to baby-sit for the odd hour or two, and AB is trying to kick her out of the house on weekends and his day-a-week off. The result so far - Mistress P went and helped friends move house, then scarpered off to a BBQ where she had... 2 sips of (their) beer! That and her first swim for 2 months... Sanity returned.

As for Master M, he's officially and physiologically "advanced" for his age. This seems to largely take the form of a number of the reflex actions - such as grasping at anything put in his hand or throwing his hands up when dropped from sitting onto his back- tapering off already, or rather, happening when he wants them to and not the other way round. (Usually these reflexes last 2-6 months.) His lungs are good, heart good, weight gain good, eyes good and good strong muscles. All up he's, well... excellent!

Apart from being Mr Snuffleupagus. Thats a bugger.