Talk

I had a great day on strike today. We went to the farm, as we do, the sun was shining, nice.












Harry came out with some good ones. At one point I was being uncharacteristically playful, being an announcer at a race:
Me: And in lane 1, we have a new competitor, Mr Harry Williams!
Later, when his turn,
Harry: And here is Mr Mummy Ali Williams!

and then later,

Harry: I've got my two mums!
Me: Do you know who else has two mums? (thinking of baby r, toddler of our friends)
Harry: big grin - Tom Tom!

1, 2, 3 -- aahhhh!

Competitive? Moi?

There is a bake sale at Harry's preschool tomorrow.



I bake to WIN.

A Tale of Two Mummies

Just words today, so photo whores can skip right on by. Baby Thomas is now 6.5 weeks old, and this is my first solo bus journey. I have been driving to work to save time, but I much prefer someone else do the driving.

Things have definitely settled down at home, and this is my last week of term -- light at the end of the tunnel. I am now back in the master bedroom and Tom has been relocated into the spare room. The long term plan is to put the boys in together, but we will at least wait till Thomas is sleeping through.

For those who like detail, here it is. Both boys are in bed 7ish. Sadly we are heading up to bed at 9 these days, but it's not forever, right? Sian is having to get up twice in the night to feed. Not too bad, but I remember how much better it is when that drops down to once. Not long now, I think, as that second feed is now 4 or 5. I get up with Harry at 6. He is pretty good about this now, we have thrown a lot of resources into bribery. I'm not proud. Anytime after 6 that Thomas wakes, I get him and he has his one bottle of the day first thing in the morning. This gives Sian a bit of a lie-in, especially on the weekends. It's all working reasonably well to avoid my nemesis, sleep deprivation. Is that the right use of the word nemesis?

The really fascinating part of all this is seeing Sian experience all of the same things I did/do. She has moments of impatience with Thomas that she never did with Harry, and she's becoming acquainted with parenting guilt. So easy to see that there is no need when it's not me. Go figure.

It's weird being a typical Dad this time around. It's accentuated because I have not been this busy at work in years. It sucks; ah well. I'm jealous of the maternity leave, and also very much looking forward to Thomas becoming more human. As the breast feeder, I loved the newborn part, but as a Daddy, it's rather limiting.

Meanwhile, I'm also being spoilt rotten, cooked for just about every night, and everything at home taken care of.


Stuff like this.



And a new sofa installed. Ok, a couple photos, but no babes.

All in all, being a 1950s husband is A-OK.

Political Correctness by Association

I'm not a fan of precious middle class parenting, even though I know I'm guilty on several counts. In my favour, we frequent McDonalds, buy kid clothes from Asda, and keep a steady stream of refined sugar coursing through Harry's bloodstream.

However, I will admit to being thrilled about a couple of things stemming from all of the precious parenting that goes on around us. Get this -- Harry has never encountered a toy gun, or any other weapon. I don't think he knows they exist. He has never said any of those words -- shooting, guns, etc. Come to think of it, he doesn't use any "bad" words, because I don't think he has ever heard them. And another thing. His favourite colour is pink. He is blissfully unaware that there is anything unboyish about this.

Right, time to unplug Harry from the cbeebies, load boys into 3-wheeled buggy and go for a baby chino. Shit, it's me! I'm the precious parent.



Unrelated pic of cutie pie. He really couldn't be easier.