where the boy is at

It seems that the onset of Walk Watch 2007 impressed Daniel so little that he decided to stick with his pre evolutionary crawl. Some insensitive git one at daycare though, told me that two weeks ago and moments before I collected my little cherub, he'd taken five steps, how fantastic! what a pity I missed it! Had there been a 4x2 handy, even one constructed from giant Lego, I would have hit her with it. What a pity I didn't! People, if you work in daycare with little ones who are bursting with a myriad of as yet unachieved milestones, parents don't want to know the ones they've missed. If we ask, think twice about telling us because I'm pretty sure I speak for us all when I say we don't mind when you lie. Daniel might even be walking now, for all I know, but if he isn't doing it at home, he isn't doing it at all, la la la la la.

While he isn't yet (as far as I know!) walking unaided, he is, on the other hand, pushing his little walking thingummyjig around pretty much all day. (I'd upload some video to YouTube if I wasn't so freaked about my camera having a cow in the process but I am so you can thank me now for not taking this opportunity to make you watch more minutes of something that's really only interesting to me) He knows how to change direction too, so fortunately for moi, he doesn't go over all precious and tantrummy when he runs out of space and into a wall. He just picks the whole thing up, turns it around and continues on his way, collecting toys, lint, scraps of newspaper, magnets he's plucked off the fridge door, the cat, and whatever else catches his eye, and puts in in the little basket in front. The other day, he took a box of oats out of the shopping bag and, while he tried and tried to get it to balance on top of the basket, lost his shit when it kept falling off, so I taped the box to his walking thingummy doover, and he was all smiles and squeals and ended up pushing that box of oats around for the rest of the day.

Hey, you know those cartoons where the car takes off and drags the driver with it, his hands disappearing off screen, followed by hands, then his head with the surprised "WHOooAaaA!!" look in his eyes, then his body and finally his legs? That's the gist of what happens when Daniel pushes this thing through a doorway. He'll stop, turns to see where I am, give me a gapey, toothy smile, then WHOA! the walker seems to lurch forward, surprising Daniel and whipping him through the doorway with his legs practically flying in the wind behind him. The boy is a hoot.

Although, are all kids this entertaining? Or am I just easily entertained?

His other favorite toy is the bedroom, all of it and particularly the bed, so you can imagine his unfettered joy when, after 'driving' into the bedroom and pushing the walker into the edge of the bed. And pushing. And pushing. And pushing while furrowing his brow and wondering why in fuck the damn thing won't get onto the bed, mama made what he wanted, happen. He stood on the bed and held onto his walker, and happily squealed for as long as I stood by and supervised. He couldn't move it anywhere, of course, what with all the quilty goodness he was standing on, but he didn't care. He'd combined his two loves and life was good. When I was all bored with standing by to catch him if he fell, I put him back on the floor and he took off out the room, cartoon style, collecting a book, a sock and one of his t-shirts on the way.

Books now take up a good portion of his interest too. He's not overly interested in being read to - my guess is he tolerates up with me doing it because when it means he doesn't have to turn the pages - but he will sit with his books and open and close them and point at the pictures while telling himself stories that only he can understand.

No words yet, and unlike a lot of mothers who recognise various gibberish as words when applied to various objects

Child: bah bo RAH!
Mother (proudly): My child can say "supercalafragalisticexpialadocious".

I tend more toward the other direction and don't understand anything. Daniel is probably talking up a storm and I'm probably completely missing it.

Daniel: ba da dah!
aibee (*sighs*) : no darling, it's a baNaNa.

He did, for a while, point to birds and call them, how in hell do you spell how the letter B is pronounced? Daniel would say the beginning of 'bird' but without the 'rd'. (Score!) I was all impressed and shit, until he started calling everything the same sound I can't spell, Nowadays though, in true evolutionary style *rolls eyes* a bird is a 'bo' which, unless that bird is sporting a bodacious rack and that's what he's pointing out for me, isn't even close. Also, pretty much the entire world is now called 'bo', if Daniel is to be believed. Given enough time, he works out that waving his hands in the air and making some kind of racket isn't going to get him shit, he'll get to saying 'UB!' when he wants out of his high chair. If he sees a picture of himself, he says Dah gnoo or Dah Boo, and every now and again, will say da or dah doo when you give him someething. There was this couple of days when he was all about saying 'wee wee weeee', but I don't think he was describing the contents of his pants. Mah mah is in his repertoire too, but again, I think it's just a sound he likes, particularly as I've been having speech therapy (and there it is, another topic I'll probably forget to write about), so have taken to wandering around chanting "mee mee mee mee, maa maa maa".

And for those of you who are still interested in the contents of his large intestine, he has, for some time now, seemed to be in control of its release. He's long been a strictly At Home Only pooper, and is apparently able to hold on with the strength of a titan until we get home because invariably as soono as we do, the thunder from down under resonates throughout the neighbourhood as Daniel fills his pants. I hope this bodes well for potty training.

in which I talk shit

When I was pregnant I swore I'd never be one of those mother's who wrote about poop.

I lied and you're welcome.

This morning Daniel and I woke up in our usual fashion, which is that he futzed around the room pulling things out of cupboards and drawers while I wafted back in and out of sleep. He kept crawling back on the bed for a cuddle, before wobbling off again on another adventure, which is adorable and simply makes my day. On around his seventh trip back to the mothership, I reached around again to snuggle him close and OH MY GOD!!!! WARNING WARNING LEAKAGE LEAKAGE OH MY GOD!! Jesus, it was disgusting. He was all bobble headed and cute and trying to cuddle closer to me while his butt was all like one of those science experiments you made at school with all the lava oozing up and out and over the sides of a paper mache volcano and I was all OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!!!

Yesterday he was pooping nuggets, so I guess that's it for the cheese for a few days. His little nuggetty plug came unstuck while we were out visiting and I'd left his change of underpants in the car because, you know, that's the best way to ensure you child takes a dump that rivals that of Mount Vesuvius. We were hanging out at a friend's place, the kids were playing with the biggest collection of toys EVER, when he wandered off, if by 'wander' I mean 'move at the speed of light', and destroyed their cd collection, and it was shortly after that that he graced us by laying the aforementioned stinkiest, goopiest cable yet.

Motherhood does get to you and to what you think is a choice topic for discussion. Thing is, your child's bowel actions really do become the most important part of the day. Yes sportsfans, fun times.


In other news, we have a guest author:

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Wordy little fellow, isn't he?

in between the boy's wailing

I managed to churn this out.

One of the goals I set for today was to write some shit here because my lack of updating haunts me. Also, dig me and the way I say "goals", like I set a lot of them for myself each day.

Remember folks, I aim low, so it's not like I've got an actual To Do list and have finally, after working my way through the several arduous and world changing tasks that needed doing by moi and only moi by lunchtime today, have come to you, my ten loyal fans, because no. I did wake up with a determined gleam in my eye though, and my fingers were eager to tippity tap on the keyboard til something wonderful happened, but what with all this raising a child thing, it's taken til now to find any time. No shit, I feel like I've achieved nothing all day, and yet it's taken me til now to actually sit down for any longer than it takes to plug up Daniel's gaping maw with some food.

He's napping at present, because he totally fudged his morning nap and only slept for like, a millisecond, so when he wobbled over to me like a beligerant drunk several minutes ago, I swept him up and put his grumpy ass in bed for a few catch up zeds. I have no idea what his problem is because, like he did this morning, he went off like a top, then fought his way back from the land of nod and is now intermittently grizzling. It's been like this for a couple of weeks and I know it's because he's coming up to the 55 week milestone that some one wrote about in that book, The Wonder Weeks, but still, knowing it doesn't make it any less wearing.

Wait...is it, could it be? I think he's asleep.

Aaaaaaand, I spoke too soon.

No shit, I think he can read my mind because without fail, the minute I breathe a big sigh of relief and begin to wallow in the notion of some alone time, he wakes up squawling.

In other news and quick like a bunny before I go in and save him from his misery, oh my god!! Woot worthy? I THINK SO!

Though apparently the news bored Daniel to sleep. Note to self: must talk about geriatric reunions more often.

I was sitting here earlier doing some paperwork which, oh joy! should get me some money back from my insurance company which rocks my socks because people, I have sixty seven dollars in the bank. I do have, however, have a bitchen new fridge.

Which is a segue into the dilemma I'm having.

It also reminds me that I lost my driver's license. Not lost it lost it, thank god. I lost the plastic thingy with the gorgeous photo that says I'm licensed to drive and also, please take my organs if appropriate. I left it at the stupid store, the one that I didn't buy my fridge from, when I was doing all that finance bullshit, the same bullshit that I never went through with anyway because, jeezuz, have you ever worked out how much you end up paying?! It's like, a million dollars which, fuck that and, yes, that'd be why there is now sixty seven bucks in the kitty. Whoopee.

And now my mum is on the phone and I think she's psychic too because she always calls when I want to be doing something else. That makes it sound like she always call which she does not. And truth be told, I always want to be doing something else. It's just that when she does call, which is barely ever now that she's worked out I'm not buying into that we're best friends now, what twenty years hiatus? business. Now I feel guilty because I was all distracted, what with the live updating and all.

Anyhow, the dilemma.

Except...it's awake.

And is dribbling a LOT. And wailing. Teeth?

*waves crashing on beaches, sands running through the hourglass*

I'm back and the dilemma is.......

Stef dodged child support for the first six months of Daniel's life simply by - and I'm not sure how it was even possible considering the dizzying heights he's currently achieving - keeping his head even more firmly up his own arse than it is now and not signing any of the paperwork that was sent and sent and sent again . He's only paying them now because of a court bordered paternity test. I don't like getting child support, mind, because it feels like I'm reliant on the idiot, but if I didn't make a reasonable effort to seek it, any government assistance I qualify for would be reduced. I guess it's the government's way of making sure the taxpayer doesn't pay for the individual's night of whoopee, which is a fair call, in my opinion. All of that is an aside, point being that legislation being as it is, that six months of child support is missing, and it won't be paid retrospectively unless I take him to court. If I took him to court, I'd win, not just because I rule but also because of the paternity test results versus Daniels' date of birth . To date, I haven't pursued it because I thought it was more important to foster an amicable relationship between us, seeings as how we're going to be in each others' lives for a very long time, (also, am stupid) and because I know Stef and he would lose his shit in a that annoying passive/aggressive way of his. Thing is, he'd been futzing around like an old woman and generally being the same incourteous fuck he'd always been for the second six months of Daniel's life, and then homeboy decided he wanted to see Daniel. He was all "I'd like to", and I was all "How nice. No." because it shouldn't be that easy. You don't get to walk into someone's life after screwing them over for a whole year, after denying their existence, and suddenly be dad. Fuck that noise, jeezuz, but, Daniel's sister, (what shall I call her? Hell, I can't even think of something simple like a pseudonym, which reminds me, must go back and change Stef's name to a pseudonym too) came on her own to Daniel's birthday party, and as it was her birthday a couple of weeks later and because she wanted to see him again on the day, Stef met Daniel and it was that easy. Now I'm all pissy and thinking that if he's going to play daddy without having to earn it, at least he can pay for the privilege. Also, please refer to above in re sixty seven dollars. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Now, lest you all think I'm an idiot and have spent my savings on frivolous things, have you seen the price of a pack of Huggies these days? They're uber-absorbent and shit, if you'll excuse the pun, all over the lesser brands. They're not particularly manly though, what with all those pretty butterflies and flowers all over them, and it's these pretty things that, along with their most magical pee absorbing filling, costs more than your plain white generic.

Getting that support would be a decent quick fix, one that would hopefully tide us over and keep us in the top shelf nappies for another six months while I get the long term fix in order. I'll soon be spending three entire days away from my beautiful boy while I go to work, which sucks oh so mightily. I miss him A LOT when he's in care, and he's only in for a couple of hours over three days of the week. Childcare though, has cost me as much as I've made these last few months, and the hours I've worked have been more an investment in our future than it has payed the bills, but now that Daniel is the big One Year Old, I'm getting it together and studying Pilates and other assorted assorted bullshit, with the plan of taking on more clients and soon enough, teaching classes.

The dilemma is, if I take him to court, what if he decides to really do the dad thing? What if he asks for regular visits and shit? I'd refuse, of course, but what if he got court orders and stuff? I doubt he will because he's only playing at thsi dad thing, like daniel is a new toy or something, so I can't imagine him going the hard yard and being all official about it, but what if? I ask you, gentle readers, what would you do?

It has, by the way, taken over two and a half hours to finish this. Also, the boy is quite possibly in the process of erupting teeth the size of my hand. Right now, he's pushing his walker thing around the house and dude can drive! He's totally steering it into and out of the bedroom, and into and out of the front room via the kitchen. In between all this independence though, he's been clawing at my leg and crying, leaving little puddles of gooz at my feet, and once he's safely installed on my lap, he's wanting to nurse. What is up with that? He's weaned himself down to one feed a day but today, he's at me every five minutes. Giddy-happy intervals of driving joy notwithstanding, dude is one miserable little camper. It's heartbreaking. I've given him aceptaminowhateveryoupeopleovertherecall it, and have loaded him up on the homeopathics and the anaesthetic teething gel, and he's still sad. He also has a very sweaty head which, what the fuck?

dear internet

It's already Wednesday and it's already National Delurking Week which, I don't give a fuck if I'm in Australia. Think global! So people, please. If you're reading, throw me a bone and leave a comment. Remember folks, de-lurking is delightful! Also, for every comment you leave, an Angel gets its wings *ting*.

pretty please?

happy feet

Daniel loves childcare so much that, despite finishing work at 4.30pm yesterday and despite missing him like crazy and totally NOT wanting to go to the mall, I went to the mall instead of picking him up. Between 5pm and 6.30, all the children are put into one room so there's some serious mingling going on while they all wait for their respective pickups. Daniel thinks this time of day is The Shit, so much so that when I come to get him, he lights up for the millisecond it takes for him to realise the implications of my presence, and then he turns turtle and buggers off into the wild, blue yonder. Or, headfirst into the biggest pile of oversized lego he can find, whichever comes first. So to keep us both happy, he with the toys and me with my desire to actually raise my child, I stayed for a while yesterday, and he showed his appreciation by doing an inordinate amount of standing around while punching the sky and bellowing, Rocky style, while I stood back and, in between fart arsing around with my camera phone, whistled appreciatively. People, I captured a milestone and you lucky sums of butchers get to see it in this ultra low quality video of a video I took with my stupid phone.

Please co ordinate your Mexican waves.

thinking

I'm not the best person to ask, what with me being single and all, but if you were to ask me, while I should keep my trap shut, I'd be thinking, sweetheart, being alone is better than being in an unsatisfactory relationship. We've got to love ourselves first and all that shit, you know?

Take me and the sperm donor, for instance. It was a totally unsatisfactory relationship, not his fault, per se, because in the same vein as the old 'if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, did it really fall?' thing, if I didn't agree to and accept the bullshit that was our relationship, would he really have been such a wad? Probably yes, but it would have been someone else's heartache. Point being totally nothing to do with what I just wrote, but point being regardless, we (or maybe it's just me?) choose relationships that work for how we feel about ourselves at the time. If we feel crappy about ourselves, we choose someone who will treat us in a crappy manner and who will validate our feelings of being unworthy of more. The time we spend using someone to perpetuate our myths about ourselves may be a lifetime, if we don't do what we need to do to grow forward, if indeed we need to, or the time may be just long enough for us to realise that, fuck this shit man, I get treated this way because I say it's acceptable to treat me this way.

In think too, that we perpetuate with our adult relationships the feelings we felt within our primary or first relationships. Another example being me and the sperm donor. In that relationship, I felt as insecure, unloved, abandoned and as unlovable as I did by my own mother. For whatever dumb reason (or not so dumb really, considering I hand picked someone to replicate my first and most formative relationship) I was recreating with him what I had grown up with, and while what I grew up with was sad and uncomfortable, it was also familiar, in that I knew how to handle being treated that way, even if my coping skills had once included starving, oy, and were largely destructive. Coping skills are coping skills, man, and we do what we do because we think they'll help us survive. ANYWAY, maybe I thought that if I could get my relationship with him to work, if I could get him to love me, then in some weird fangly way, it meant my mother loved me too. I think that's why we repeat and repeat and repeat bad relationships that all follow a common theme: because we feel like if we can fix it, it means we've somehow also retrospectively fixed the one that began it all in the first place, the one with mom or dad or whoever. Also, dig me. 'Mom'? Heh.

In other news, I've got a fuckload of video of Daniel on my phone , but do you think they make software for phones that involve ye olde mac? NO. Fuckers. So I have to keep this stupid phone for ever. I'm also taking a fuckload more inane and useless video of the D man doing all sorts of exciting things like, um, breathing, on this new camera of mine (the one that hasn't instantaneously made me look like an artsy farty photographer, and what the hell is up with that shit?) but after the ballsup with the image capture shemozzle, I'm scared. I do that, get all antsy about doing someone, I mean something (I wonder if that was freudian?) so I don't do it, preferring instead worrying about what would happen if I tried. I swear, my head is shaped just right for banging against a wall, and I think the universe planned it that way.