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. Print this post