Mr Smiley

Teeth, teeth, teeth.

The boys sprouting them like they're going out of fashion. Almost as out of fashion as getting a good night sleep.

We're now up to five chompers - three up top and two down below - but the main casualty from all of this appears to be the nights. While the lad is all grins and guffaws during the waking hours, at night he's tending towards mega-pissed off with the whole teething caper and has taken, in the last few days at least, to a return to his newborn ways and is waking every few hours during the night.

Mum and dad are back to being the waken dead. And just slightly scared witless that he's setting a new pattern for himself.

This, of course, all coincided with the annual Melbourne Cup windsurf carnival down at Sandy Point, and hence a weekend away. And three others in the house trying to sleep.

Or four if you count Master Ms newest mate - Master A. Ok, so their relationship mostly consisted of the 9-months older Master A trying to bop Mike on the noggin with his feet, hand and/or toy box lid, but M didnt mind. They were mates.

(Its a guy thing.)

And being the Cup weekend, it was only fitting that Mike not only touch his first horse (a sandy quarterhorse in the paddocks behind town - in fact over the back fence from where mum&dad got hitched) but also ride his first nag.

So it was a hobbie horse and dad was holding on tight, but the lad had the hands and heels action going well enough to make his uncle, Punter J, proud. (Sorry J, we didn't notice if his whip-hand was right or left, so cant comment on his preference for the Sydney or Melbourne tracks. Yet.)

The weekend was also a chance to catch up with numerous windsurfy types, many of whom hadn't seen Mistress P (and for that matter Mike) since last season, when mum-to-be was wowing them with wicked turns on a virtual wave while Mike was still ensconced somewhere between the hip, hooters and harness hook.

As expected, Master M outdid himself, flirting with all the older women, getting pampered by the tweeny girls, and getting dubbed "Mr Smiley" by all and sundry.

And its true. He is Mr Smiley.

Even when getting hit on the head by a toy box lid.

Back home he was again putting the smile into action, and almost (...almost...) scored his first kiss!

While at mothers group (which dad still reckons is more akin to an outlaw bikie gang when it comes to mass pram takeovers of the local cafe's), Master M got up on his haunches (and no, he still cant crawl) and did the wobbly dog + smile to a slightly older miss who had learned to crawl.

Over she came to look.
And they faced off.
And he smiled.
And then they both did the big wide mouthy opening thing like they were about to slop on with a big cavernous Kel+Kath kiss...
...then both got cold feet and just slapped each other in the face a few times.

(Its a bikie gang mating ritual thing.)

The next week, though, is a biggy. Lets just say Mike now has his very own passport (valid till he is five and completely devoid of signature - someone kindly recommended a nappy stain would do but we politely declined) and isn't afraid to use it.

Lock up your women, wider world. Mikes comin'. Print this post