Tuesday, October 17, 2006


About those photos.

Sweet lord, is there a limit to how much cute this kid can ooze?

I know he's my own so I'm legally required to think he's adorable but seriously, isn't he cute? And yeah, he totally LOVES the clothes dryer. He totally dives right into everything. He's a real hoot getting into his wading pool o' toys n' crap. He tilts and hovers on the edge and then *whap!* falls in amongst it all. He gets out the same way too, leaning over until he over balances and face plants onto the floor. He tries the same trick with the dryer too, the leaning in and waiting for something to happen but so far, no go. He seems to have made his peace with only sticking his head in though, and he has a good sticky beak at what's inside while he's there. He probably thinks there's some kind of tardis experience on offer, and that if he sticks his head in there often enough, one day he's going to catch it before it magically turns itself back into a boring old clothesdryer. He's dreaming of magical lands every time he stares into that empty steel drum. If he finds clothes in there he thinks that's magic too, so he'll hunker down and get busy pulling them out until the dryer is empty. Then he sticks his head inside it again and has a good old look around, looking for the whole tardis experience again.

He's growing up so fast, but he's still so little. Little, but with a lot of confidence. He motors away from me without a second glance and heads for his toys, and he'll spend a good hour or so keeping busy with whatever games babies create inside their doughy little heads. Watching him go or watching his crouched with his toys in his own little world, there's a fleeing moment where I feel a pang of sadness. He doesn't need me like he used to. It's just fleeting though because more than that, I'm proud of the self sufficient little unit he's become. The one who knows I'm there, who doesn't need to keep checking on my whereabouts.

That being said, I taught a class at the gym yesterday and apparently he was quite the disgruntled little postal worker. Reports suggest he drove the creche ladies to fantasies of drop kicking him out the window, or at least plugging up his gaping scream hole with one of his socks. So yeah, confident, placid, self sufficient, etc.

Daniel hasn't slept for about two days now, so fair being fair, there had better be a tooth the size of Tasmania erupting in there. He was awake at 1.30 the night before last, thinking 'playtime!', so tooth? Wishful thinking, maybe. He kept me awake until about 5.30am, when he fell alseep flat on his back and snoring like a drunk. I mananged to filter a lot of the crwling all over me while chatting to himself stuff out, but was aware enough to guide him away from impending danger that is the edge of the bed. Except for the time when he sat bolt upright on that edge when I missed, by a split second, catching him before he keeled over backwards, legs in the air and a startled expression on his face. He broke his fall on the surrounding pillows and then, with a resounding 'thwack', introduced the back of his his head to the cement slab. So that was a fine example of my mad mothering skilz. He's okay though, I think, albeit possibly nursing a closed head injury.

There must be something about 1.30 in the am because he was at it again last night. Mostly I incorporate it into my dreams, so it's not like I'm awakle all night. I still feel like shit in the morning. All day actually, and my usual delight at seeing him in the morning is somewhat dimmed, especially as he''s been waking up with some pretty toxic waste in his underpants these past few days, and the first thing you want to face in the morning is NOT an over ripe turd. The timing though, hmm. Maybe it's planned that way? Morning, empty stomach. I swear I gagged so much that had I eaten first, I would've hoiked the lot of it all over him yesterday. True story. And while these days I'm quite au fait with being at the receiving end of a technicolour yawn, I'm pretty certain Daniel wouldn't much like the favor being returned.

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