Lucky 17

Week 17 and it was back to reality for the lad after some unadulterated holiday indulgence in the Tropics and then at the snow. (Oh what a life.)

First of all it was off to the baby health care centre for a quick lube and oil change. (a.k.a., 4 month check up.) All up... doing just fine, nothing to see here. Vital measurements;
Weight: 6.5kg (~50th percentile)
Length: 65cm (~75th percentile)
Tall and thin - still on track for that future Tour de France win (drug free).

Mistress P noted that he was now almost exactly one tenth of her weight. AB noted that if he remained as currently proportioned till he weighed the same as his mum he'd also grow into a 6.5 metre tall super freak. And that would require a bigger bed.

He also had his 4 month immunisation booster... and hence copped 3 more injections into his little legs. (Mum couldn't watch.)

Despite some pitiful wails from the other kiddies, lil Mike just had a bit of a cry with each jab, some reasonably quiet sookiness for 10 minutes after, and that was it. He's a little tough guy. Ok, a bit of a temperature next day (and hence his first dose of baby panadol) but he was fine. (AB's note: don't drink baby panadol. The "cherry" flavour indicated on the bottle is a somewhat generous interpretation of the taste. "Pen ink with a hint of battery acid" may well feature on any wiser sommeliers score card.)

Apart from all this prodding, probing and posturing, theres also been lots more to learn for the lad - like "it hurts if I don't use my arms to try and crawl, and hence I push with my legs from the back and slide along on my nose at the front." We call it the bulldozer manouvre, and in fact it may come in handy when we need a vege patch flattened out. (Though AB still wants to get a "Dingo" mini-dozer, if only so he can lie Mike in it, take a photo, and caption it "A Dingo's got my baby!")

Mike, however, just gets cranky. Still thats what you get when you just haven't grown old enough to grasp the full concept of those arm thingys. Hey, we've only just learned they help to stabilise a bottle of milk... for a moment or two anyway.

Then again, it would appear he's decided to try and skip this nose-hurty crawling caper altogether. While held above the change mat, he's taken to placing one foot in front of the other on said mat and attempting to walk forward, intensely staring at his toes in the process and kinda wondering what these wobbly but partially weight bearing appendages are doing beneath him. Its somewhat, well, comical.

Almost as comical as poo'ing on dad.

Ok, so it wasn't really his fault that the "next size up" nappies didn't quite do the job in-so-far-as keeping in the boggas is concerned. Still, when dad heard the farty farty noise, then a bit of a smell, and then a bit of a warm goeey feeling through the legs of his trousers, there was a lil bit o' good ole cussin' going on. No matter how much the boy smiled at him with glee.

Still, for all the hootin' and a hollerin', Master M managed to help dad blow out his candles for his birthday and took him out to lunch at Ricketts Point, plus let dad lick the bowl clean of cake mix without even asking for the spatula, and all on his very best behavior. (Mike wasn't bad behaved either.)

Ups and downs; covered in crappola one minute and showered in smiles the next. Such is the life of a parent. And boy. Print this post