Monday, March 13, 2006

dear son

Nah, not really. I'd write one of those moving entries if I could, but I can't. Oh, I compose real heart string pullers in my head quite frequently, every day in fact, but do you see that amount of thinking reflected on these pages? Nooo. Pity too, because I'm quite the prolific story teller in the ol' grey matter. I'm a dolt or something though because without fail, the minute I sit in front of my mac, my head gets the blue screen of death.

Anyhoo, Daniel was three months old yesterday. Practically speaking, the first few weeks of his life were about as exciting as carrying around an egg. They're fragile, so you wouldn't want to drop one, but they don't really do anything. Realistically speaking of course, those few weeks were so fucking amazing, even if, or because even, his personal bests involved excreting something from one end or the other. Add another few weeks though, and the egg hatched and dude is HERE! He's on planet Earth and is taking it all in. This morning he was taking it in so enthusiastically that he whopped me across the chin so hard with his head that I saw stars. When I'm not cradling my jaw with the hand that's not holding his scrummy little self on my shoulder, I call him The Tennis Fan because his head flips from side to side with a regularity that could be set by metronome-and it's a complete 180 degree turn that he does too, none of this taking in the scenery on the way. It seems the action takes place only at polar opposites.

He smiles a lot now too, usually at inanimate objects or strangers, unless it's morning and I'm waking up. Daniel wakes before I do, and passes the time doing his exercises next to me. I'll be half asleep as his little legs pump and his little arms slice through the air. He has quite a jolly old time of it too, chattering away to himself - which is also something he reserves for inanimate objects, like the mobile I bought to hang over has change table. It cost me ten bucks at Woolworths (as compared to the Lamaze and Fischer Price junk yard I have here on the floor that cost considerably more and actually do stuff) and Daniel loves it. He'd lie underneath it all day if I let him, because my goodness, it's fascinating company and so, the conversations he has with it are spectacular. And cute. Fuck they're cute. I called mum today so she could hear what sounded like his detailed opinion on the upcoming state election, and the minute she answered the phone, the boy shut up. He does that, shuts up when he knows he's being listened too. I have no idea how he knows though. He also doesn't like anyone interfering with the special relationship he shares with the mobile either. Or specifically, the mobile's Red Dog on the Yellow Moon which hangs in the middle. One word from me and it's all over, red rover with the chatting. He'll be having his own party on that table and I'll say something like 'hello' in an attempt to try and interact with this child who has just spent ten minutes alone (and before anyone calls child services, the change table has sides so unless I give him back his abseiling gear, he's not going over the edge), and Daniel will stop what he's doing and turn into a lump, and I'll slink away feeling guilty for ruining his fun. When I wake up though, it's all for me. He smiles and coos, and scrunches his legs up and gathers his hands up under his chin. That's a serious smile folks, one that requires his whole body to execute it. We could lay there all day and he'd keep on smiling and scrunching and cooing, and I'd keep staring in amazement at this little person who came into my life and made it worth something.
a man and his dog


Apropos to nothing to do with being three months old, apart from maybe that now Daniel is bigger, I got us a new carrier, and *paddaboom* there you have it. The neat segue I was looking for, ahem. Carrying on. I had him in his new hug-a-bub the other day and at first, being a hotsling kind of guy, he wasn't too happy. The sling has been good to us and we've used it since he was born, but now he's older, he's halfway man, being not quite old enough to sit on my hip and too old to fit inside it anymore, so he kind of hangs about in it like a set of balls do in a pair of Budgie smugglers. It didn't take long 'til he'd settled into it though...
sleeping around

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