Pandy and Andy create a baby...

Saturday, May 24, 2008

I think therefore I am... Mike.

The boy is learning so fast we can almost hear the cogs ticking.

Theres the knives and forks and trying to emulate mum and dad at the dinner table, and the look on his face when we stab a fork into some nosh and hand it to him, and then HE is able to feed it to himself. (You'd think we'd given him next weeks tattslotto numbers...)

Theres the using the camera. Or at least picking it up and trying to use it like he's seen others do - errr... then dropping it and breaking it ($60 bucks just for a repair quote - what a rip off!).

Theres the "shapes through the holes" toy that he's worked out is more fun than a mouth full of marbles when you get it in. (Ok, mum and dad have to point out the correct hole, but still...)

And theres the bib. After 8 months of putting a bib on for each meal he's certainly gotten the picture, and indeed for some time has been ripping the bib off to signify he's had enough.

But Tuesday morning, and now with the added benefit of this hands-free walking caper, we found him grabbing a bib, putting it round his own neck, and marching off in search of his brekky chanting
MummmMummmMummmm...
Ok, it may sound lame but its amazing to us.

Just as was his singing.

His aunt and uncle had come over for a little family bonding. In this case, via a song for Mike ("five little ducks") which was accompanied
by flipping the pages of a newly mum-aquired book of the same name (and story for that matter).

Whereas Mike would normally rather eat a book than read it, in this case he loved it. (Reading that is - where reading is looosely defined as flipping pages and stabbing at pictures and only occasionally trying to rip the thing to shreds.)

Suddenly, the singing...
"Five little ducks went out one day, over the hills and far away..."
was be answered with a
"Dah dahdah dah dahhh dahhh da da".
Several times.
Yes, we think he actually was trying to follow the tune. Must be the ancient Welsh blood.

Not to mention his joke.

He looked at mum and aunty.
He babbled at them for a few seconds.
Then burst into laughter.
("And now we can all get some sleep!" - apparently, according to Mike,
it was hilarious!)

The only really problem with all this learning is his newfound fascination with the dunny.

And its brush.

Alright, at least he doesnt try to eat it (the brush that is), but he is desperate to plonk his hands in the toot itself. Which on the occasion when dad had left the door open while trying to siphon the python (as is the male way), and hence suddenly found himself with a wee lad (scuse terrible but unavoidable pun) trying desperately to push between dads legs to get a good look at what was going on... was a little beyond the pale.

Still, the progression from bub to thinking and challanging boy is a true wonder to behold.

He'll be reading Trotsky next.

PS. And in a significant step for a modern bub he's been tried on some peanut butter (we have both kinds - smooth and crunchy) and didnt curl up and die.

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Q.E.D

Thirteen months old.

And we think its time to ditch the baby tag. We have now...

A Toddler.

The walking caper has opened up a whole new world of things that have gone unnoticed in the previously quadruped stage. And more to the point, with the hands-free option that comes standard with the walking kit, things can be transported all over the house and/or suburb at a rapid rate. Plastic spades, mums hair clips, remote controls, toys, errant forks, letters, thongs,...

Thankfully he still cant help himself from leaving a breadcrumb trail of detritus when he finds a wallet.

And he's also clearly grown. We know. We've heard the ripping.

There was dad happily tapping on the computer while the lad was blissfully sleeping (or so dad thought) in his cot in the other room.

{Kerrrplunk....}

"Whawasthat?" mused dad.

{RRRRRRiiiiiipppppp.....}

"HMMmmm the lads room.... giant rat probably..."

{RRRRRIIIIPPPPPPP!!!! --"Heheheheheheeeee..."}

Synopsis: Whereas previously the lad had just been tall enough to reach the corners of a rather speccy satellite-pic-of-the-globe poster we'd bunged above his cot, he had suddenly discovered he was tall enough that, standing on tip toes, he could get a good enough grab hold to bring the whole thing off the wall - blue tack and all - and rip it to shreds.

As you do.

Oh well, so much for the subliminal astronaut / meteorologist training.

Not only is the lad running amok on two legs but he's now officially weaned.

Yup... the "if he can chase me down the corridor and lift my top up for a drink its gone on far enough" time has been reached, and hence, as mum says, boyo, you're on your own.

Not that the lad is all that worried by losing the booby juice, as he has mastered the use of the word "Ummy"/"Mummy"/"UMUMUMUM", which is used in both "Hey mum, no hands!" watch me run/push truck/stab myself with scissors context, but also "When/wheres lunch??"

Other words he's learnt appear to be "DADADA/DAAA" for dad (very cute), "AwwwOhhhh!" for some form of stuff up, (e.g., dinner bowl dropped on floor/placed on head), "FFffffff" for dog (cos a dog goes "Wooffff", but the "Wooo" bits a bit hard) and "Ta" which actually means, and is used in the correct sense when accepting something handed to him, "Ta".

On top of the walking and talking, he's a) gone up a nappy size, b) become a strong little bugger.
And he knows how to use it.

Hence we offer the following logic as to why he has progressed to the next level of development:

He had candy.
We tried to take it off him.
It was bloody bloody hard.

( Q.E.D: He's not a baby anymore.)

Friday, May 09, 2008

I did it my way (week)

Not for the first time we've had a week of firsts...

For starters, we officially declare Sunday May 4 as the day the boy started to walk (see video below).

Or at least spent more time and distance on two legs than he did on all fours.

As with all things Watkins, it all started with a girl. Or an older woman at least.

The lad had been down at Pt Leo, watching mum and dad attempt to catch ripples with a Trigger Bros. demo board. Given the complete lack of waves, Mike was prolly a tad bored.

So he took a few more steps than usual; flat, firm-but-not-concrete sand being a good surface for such things.

Afterwards, as is your want when you've paddled (as opposed to surfed) for about an hour, mum and dad wanted food-as-fuel. A.k.a greasy burger from "Pittys" at the Point (when will they get the buns right?).
They entered. There was a lady.
"Ohhhhh aren't you a cutey....How old is he?" she said as he went into typical Mike seduction mode.
"One... two weeks ago" replied mum.
"Does he take steps?" she asked
"Oh, a few when he can be bothered..."
And with that he smiled, turned, and proceeded to walk from one end of the shop to the other.

Seriously.

Then coo'd and eye-lid-batt'ed at the lady a little more and paced over to the door and tried to head off for a stroll round the block.
"Oh.... he's pretty good isn't he. Mine didn't walk till 15 months".

Mum and dad just tried to act cool while somewhat disbelievingly watching the show.

All this appears to be part of international (or at least the Baghdad end of Hampton) "I wanna do it myself" week.

Like eating. With a spoon.

Yes, he's been grabbing handfuls of stuff and shoving it in his gob for ages, but suddenly he wanted an implement.

At first he tried to put solid stuff on his plastic spoon and then swing it towards his mouth. Which on most occasions was more like firing a trebuchet than feeding, but it was obvious what he was trying to do.

So we gave him mush again - just like when he was a little boy - the idea being that if he had something that'd stick to the spoon it'd have an increased probability of actually making it all the way into his mouth and hence he would be less likely to die of starvation and us of impalement on a particularly pointy bean.

And in the mush went. To his mouth that is.

He was so stoked he just about screamed the house down in delight.

Feeding himself, just like mum and dad... well, if mum and dad grapsed their eating utensils like a gearshift on a semi-trailer, bagged the outside of their face with the food in preparation for shoving it into their mouth, spoon facing down.

But apart from that, just like mum and dad.

That said, when he cant do things his way he's discovered {gulp}...
Tantys.

Where the hell did he learn that??

The past week have seen the first real gen-ew-ine dummy spits. (Only he has never used a dummy.)

Case in point.

On the Sunday trip down the coast he discovers the nose bag full of food.
In goes the arm, out he throws the Ryvitas, his spoon, a jar of Mr Heinz baby-muck, a face washer, a Pink Lady apple (is there any other kind for eating raw - seriously?)... and emerges standing bolt upright. With a banana.

Dad: "Sorry matey, you've already had one - thats for after lunch. Here, give it to me..."

He slowly turns, pulls himself up to full height, and gives "the look" {i.e., Fugg off dad - finders keepers, I saw it first, law of the play jungle and all that...}.
Dad reaches over and takes the 'nana.

Oh boy.. thats it... head drops to the ground (while bum is still up in the air), body falls sideways and lands {thump} on the ground, grizzle turns to wail, starts rolling about on back like some demented morteined giant blowy. Right as a nice couple emerge and want to sit in the chair opposite for a bit of peace and quite and bay views.

Its somewhat hard to say "get over it" to a kiddie.

"Geez mate,.. its only a 'nana..."

But then again, it is international "I did it my way" week.

Cupla extra camping pics




Doh!

We had a second camera... hence a cupla more camping pics from the Prom.

We love the Prom.

Its really good.

(Pity the mozzie bites were subsequently misdiagnosed as chicken pox... but thats another story...)

Thursday, May 01, 2008

Mike goes Wild

Theres one good thing about a dead and rotting dolphin.

It makes you realise that baby poo doesnt stink. (Well, in a relative sense.)

The week just gone was spent taking young Master M on his first official camping trip, down to "the Prom".

And he loved it.
Dirt to crawl in. Wet morning dew to soak up with his pants. And all the seaweed he could eat.

And his favourite?

His friend Snappy the seagull, who very quickly learned that Mike in his high chair equals food scraps littered for a solid half metre radius. He was harder to get rid of than your shadow/religion.

Though he was somewhat preferable to the seriously fat arsed wombat who lumbered into dinner one night, sniffed about literally under Mike's toes (much to Mike's delight, though we'd rather he didn't wave said toes about so much like some sort of jangly wombat lure/jig) until mum went into serious DFWMK* mode. And tried to kick it.

"Are you serious - look at those claws!"

They were scissor hands.
Mr/Ms Wombat didnt seem to mind and lumbered off.
Mike just giggled.
Mr/Ms Wombat got revenge by returning at 3 in the morning and trying to root our esky.

Camping with a huge family tent and all the creature comforts a hire trailer and the Griswald family wagon could stuff in was certainly worth all the effort. Daytimes were mostly spent walking, with Mike slung up on back in the Wilderness Equipment "Wild Child" - which we can heartily endorse, if not afford (it was a hire jobby).

Little Oberon Bay was a highlight, with massive granite boulders, spectacular views from atop the clifftop walking track, water seven shades of blue and the aforementioned dead dolphin (see bottom left of above pic) on the beach for added "flavour".

"Err... i wouldnt stand infront of that bloating belly if i was you..." was the suggestion.

"Right you are" we replied, noting that if it smelt that bad from 10foot, it probably wouldnt smell any better if it exploded, napalm like, and covered you with dolphin guts. (Though in our defence, we did have an emergency pack of Huggies scent free baby wipes for just such a situation.)

Other walks included Squeaky Beach and back (and yes, it does indeed squeak when you walk on it - something to do with the size of the sand grains), though again Mike seemed more intent on eating the seaweed; and a trip to Millers Landing, up in the northern end of the park.

This had a little added adventure when dad decided it would be a good idea to wade out across the submerged mud flats to a nearby island/bird rookery.
With Mike in pack.
It was doable - just.

However after a brief deserted island stop for a snickers, it was realised that the tide was still coming in, not out, and hence a quick skidaddle was in order. Though not quite quick enough; the crossing back was done by mum in her Reg Grundies. (Pic removed to save the pantless.)

Mike, all the while, just watched the world from on high, amusing himself by pulling the hat off the head of his human carrier at random intervals or going to sleep. Which, while in the pack, he did a lot of. In fact mum and dad realised that in the the whole camping trip he didnt have one daytime sleep in his cot - the poor bugger. All were in pram, car seat or, most often, baby pack.

Still he got his revenge too. The lugging parent would be repeatedly tapped on the head/neck by the swaying brim of a sleeping boys hat, which in principle sounds all kinda cute and nice, but in reality the tap tap was more like a bushwalking version of a chinese water torture.

All up, a big, if at times a little tiring, success.
Big thanks to Mike's Nana and grandpa for the Taj Mahal tent and mountain of gear, and to his grandma for helping to prepare food for the trip.

Mmm... Pre-cooked spag bog...

Certainly beat "fresh" Dolphin steaks.

*(Dont Fugg With My Kid)