We're going OUT

It's surprising how much babies understand. If you say 'We're going OUT' to the baby he is very interested. He likes going out and he understands this phrase perfectly. If you lead the way to the pram he will try to climb in, if you offer a jacket he will cooperate with putting it on. He will even sit happily in the pram and watch while you get your handbag, put on socks and shoes, find the keys, run back upstairs for something you've forgotten etc. All of this is acceptable because you're doing things he associates with being just about to go out.

But if you say the phrase and then start doing something that doesn't look like you are going out after all he gets mad. As far as he's concerned you've broken your promise and he makes his feelings felt. Going to get glasses of water, starting to tidy up etc is not acceptable. So you have to say it only when you really are just about to go out and then he's very happy.

Which makes it odd when you're planning things. He doesn't know that we are planning a weekend in Ireland. He doesn't even know we are planning to see his aunt tomorrow. I can't mention the going OUT because then he'll see we are not doing it right now and get mad. So he lives in a world with no tomorrows, not even a 'later', just right now this minute or perhaps five minutes away at the most. Life must be full of surprises.

Fruit bowl

As the baby likes fruit, it is only fitting that he should also like Carmen Miranda. The other day while I was cooking he sat at my feet and said "Ai-yai-yai!" a lot. I sang it back to him with her famous song -"Ai-yai-yai-yai-yai I like you verrrry much, Ai-yai-yai-yai-yai I think you're grand!" He was delighted. Now we sing it to each other all the time. I sing like Carmen, he helps out with the Ai-yai-yais. All we need is a way to balance the fruit bowl on our heads.

An apple a day...

The apple trees at the end of our garden have started production for the year, with apples turning red by the day. The baby has been gazing up at them for a long time with a lot of interest and been displeased by us refusing to pass him one even if he points vigorously. Now he has suddenly been offered the opportunity to pick one each day and he is delighted. He clasps them in his two hands and savagely bites them, making what sound like roaring noises. Surprisingly, considering they are the hardest textured thing he has ever been given, he really does eat them - it takes about half an hour but the apple does slowly get eaten. He is very happy.

I think I need to follow his lead and eat one every day myself. I have a horrid cold he gave me - he got over it quickly and seemed oblivious to it and his disgustingly snotty nose, whereas I feel like death warmed over. An apple a day...

Wrestling a baby

Today we attended our first Olympic event - the Graeco-Roman Wrestling. Don't laugh - the blokes in the heavyweight category (whom we were sat right next to) are HUGE and look like they take it very seriously. You really wouldn't want to meet one in a dark alley. The atmosphere was great - a lot of families, a lot of supporters from the various countries - Ukraine, Russia, Azerbaijan all featured heavily as did the Nordic countries - and a lot of people (like us) with no clue at all about the rules or knowledge of any competitors. Which made for a light-hearted, supportive attitude which, if all sporting events were like that, would get me attending more often. We bought the baby a commemorative London 2012 T-shirt for him to wear when he attains his full height. His growth chart says he will be 6ft 3 inches... we bought an XL.

The baby took it very seriously. He started in a jolly mood but once he'd seen some of the contenders he got into the spirit of things. Holding an 11+kg baby who is bored of sitting still and wants to escape is very much like partaking in a wrestling match yourself. We took turns, swapping him between us every 15 min, while the competitors took breaks between bouts and were dried off and fanned by their coaches.

By the end we retreated in abject defeat. Sadly we had no coaches to fan us. The baby, victorious, lay back in his pram with his arms under his head and had a well-earned sleep all the way home.