Every single Saturday is Fathers Day

Fathers Day.

A bit of a novelty in the household as Mistress P's father has lived far afield for many a long year, and AB's dad shuffled off this mortal coil almost spot-on 0.5 x AB's lifetime ago. New experiences all round.

And Mike outdid himself.

As AB was wiping the sleep from his eyes on yet another worrying dry and sunny Melbourne morning, he was presented with gifts aplenty (not counting the GPS unit he had bought himself to mark the occasion cos he didnt think he'd be getting gifts aplenty). Strangely they were all of equal pleasure to the boy.

1. A thermos. Great for those cold windsurf days and a cup of hot toddy (is this a sign of getting old?) - or for carting around warm baby formula for those days away from home. (err... this surely is.)
   
2. The Dangerous Book for Boys. Is it wise to teach boys how to make bombs (albeit "water") in this day and age?? Surely one for the national security hotline (where's that fridge magnet when you need it?)
   
3. Chocolate bullets (a favourite of AB's dad also). Mike liked chewing the crinkly packet so much it delayed dad gorging himself sick on them by about half an hour. Which is probably a good thing.

The highlight of the day itself was an impromptu family picnic in nearby Wishart park, towards the end of which came the sudden realisation that everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket if the lad wasn't found a toy - pronto. AB dutifully skolled the last of his chocky milk (Mmmmm.... c.h.o.c.k.y... m.i.l.k...), dripped out the remnants - or so he thought - and handed the boy the carton.

Ode to joy.

Seemed it was not only the perfect shape for a 4.5 month boy to grasp by the corners, but also... the spouty section was topshelf chewy chewy material. Of course latter inspection revealed chocky milk still spilling from the spout and... into his mouth. Which may also explain why he chewed on it silently and with a glint of guilty eye, in the park, for the entire walk home (including meet and greet with neighbours 3 doors down) and while sitting on the deck waiting for mum to prepare herself to give him some real milk upon arriving home.

Not to mention the incredible problem solving it induced, which included the most dexterous hand and foot co-ordination seen to date, all to recover the carton when it was dropped to the end of the pram. Most impressive. (If only mum and dad could contort themselves like that, getting pregnant would surely have happened a helluva lot sooner.)

"Mmmm... chocky milk..." (Just like dad.)

Of course this is now added to the list of all the other non-mum-milk products thus far injested by the boy. In our defence, most were but trace amounts. Promise.

• Baby Formula - less than half a dozen feeds to date
• Dead horse - well, at least a little licked off dads finger as dad tried to juggle baby and a four n' twenty - as you do
• Saline solution - dribbled down from clearing out his snuffleuffagus nose
• Kiddies panadol - dad tasted it; can only be politely described as "Blerk"
  
• Chocolate cake icing - a smidgeon he licked off his own hand after wacking fist into dad's b'day cake
• Some nappy rash stuff he insisted on jamming his hands into (and yes, we know its says do not ingest - he was just too fast your honour)
  
• Err... probably some things he scraped out of his own nappy.

(Dont tell the council nurse.) Print this post