The boys gone all independent. And Houdini like.
"High chair... what you reckon I've got time to just sit around all day?? Sod that..." as he tries (and has succeeded) to climb out, despite being attached in via harness and all.
"Long sleeve shirt on a hot day? Are you parents morons?" so he pulls it off. Or at least half of it so he ends up moping about in a nice lil off the shoulder number.
"Nappy... do you think I wanna live in poo??" hence he rips open the tabs and thrusts his bits to the world.
Speaking of which, he has well and truly discovered them, and will happily hang onto his wedding tackle for a considerable percentage of his nappy free time.
And then theres the fussiness.
Whereas he would have thought he'd died and gone to baby heaven if he fell into a vat of brochilli only 3 months ago, its now treated with the disdain some may say it deserves. Quicker than you can say "hahaha look at dad scraping food scraps off the floor below my high chair like the slave i think he is" its gone. Straight over the side of the chair and onto the polished boards.
Followed by a lean over, stretch of the neck and gaze down just to make sure it landed far enough away.
In fact he's taken to doing this with many of the main vegetable food groups. His mums theory is that as he goes to less and less boob and more and more bottle, he's realising that bottle drinking is the easiest way of all to ingest fuel, and probably the sweetest too.
He's also discovered a new toy; a.k.a, the dirty clothes basket (dcb for short). Whereas the parents have scoured high and low for a suitable "walker" for him to push around as he gets ever nearer to being a real toddler, he's discovered that the dcb is of perfect height and frictional qualities with the floor to be the walking device of choice. Hence it appearing in all corners of the house, often attached to a great big smile.
Heres just hoping he can avoid celebrating his biped adventures by sucking on the used jocks within.
On the home front he's loving and advancing in his weekly swim class (see pics). He's scored top marks in advanced bubble blowing and will advance to being dunked like a baptist in no time. Silly Dad still doesn't know the rhymes but the teacher is overlooking such parental failures. For now.
He's also settled amazingly well into his family day care - but who wouldn't when all the little girls treat him like a king. Seems they cant resist the flash of that smile...
The boys gunna be a heartbreaker. (You've all been warned.)
Finally, the hens night. Being 10 months old - as he turned last week- seems to get you special dispensations. Young mums (other than your own) rip their tops off in front of you, you get to crawl about the floor in womens change rooms at the pool, and no one blinks an eye at you being the only (unpaid...) male at a hens night. Its like living through a scene from Porkys.
And he wont remember a second of it. Print this post
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