Well ba-ba then, I've got places to go

I'm stopping this blog and this will be my last entry. Basically, I don't have enough time. The novel I've written now has an editor who say it needs lots of revisions, the housework is constant (seriously, a washing machine load every day or the laundry basket overflows), there's a job to do, a husband, family and friends to spend time with and oh yes, a baby too - now where did he get to?

For he has learnt to walk! On the trip to the USA (best tip ever, thanks again to the Great God Google, is: buy a small toy/odd little item from a pound shop for every half hour you will be on a plane. Brilliant.) he took his first, tottering steps. Then there was a gap of a few weeks, during which the new skill was occasionally spotted but he mostly kept on crawling. And then, after a quiet weekend, he suddenly stood up and walked. Round and round the living room, round the kitchen, through the hall, back to the living room. We just gaped at him. It was so sudden and so definite. He was delighted with himself. He just grinned at us and kept on walking.

There's a lovely documentary called, simply, Babies, about four babies, born in Mongolia, San Francisco, Tokyo and, I think, Nigeria. Of course they have very different lives (although surprisingly also many many similarities), but the film follows them from the moment they are born till each of them takes their first, wobbly, steps. So it is with this blog. I'd like to keep going but in the past year I've got my first grey hair and been busier than I've ever been in my life. Truly, I'm telling you, if you think you're busy and you don't have small children, you're not busy. I swear. I used to think I was a very busy person.
Ha. Ha. Ha.

Oh yes. And I've had the most fun and the most love - to and from me, the baby, my husband, family and friends, probably since I myself was a baby. Something worth giving up a blog to enjoy more of.

 

Is it a buh? Is it a air-lo-pluh? No, it's a baby, talking!

The baby is trying to say a lot of new words. He has 'car' down pat now, he even pronounces it properly - unlike the initial 'ka!' he came out with, it is now a fully developed 'car'. So now he is stretching his wings. He points to balloons and says 'ba', he points to the garden and says 'gar' (and then gets mad if you won't open the French windows and let him out - conversely, he yells in delight if he sees you get the keys out to unlock them). Outside, he points up over his head if you ask him where the sky is and when birds fly overhead he says 'buh!' Even better in his opinion, though, are the airplanes, which fortunately for us are not right overhead but pass fairly regularly in the distance. Undaunted by the long name, the baby has tackled this new word with enthusiasm. 'Air-lo-pluh', he announces, beaming, each time one goes by. Sometimes he says it and we have to look about us, but he is always right, he has spotted some minute speck of a plane in the sky somewhere and is pointing at it.

After the recent chaos of lost passports (and the stress of getting replacements), the latest tummy bug plus a fall causing a split lip which took us to A&E for an excruiciating combination of stress and boredom (luckily it was nothing very terrible, but gosh lips do bleed, don't they...), the time has come for a well-earned holiday. To America (wish us luck with a six-hour plane journey and a one year old child), for a small road trip round parts of New England which we are very much looking forward to.

But as my mother pointed out, will the baby realise he is inside an air-lo-pluh? That could be the highlight of the trip as far as he is concerned!

On your feet

Babies make you busy. This blog (or lack of for quite a long time) testifies to that. The baby's first birthday has come and gone - strawberry and cream cake with balloons everywhere and the presence of many grandparents seemed satisfactory to him, he ate lots, played with the balloons and enjoyed the attention - as well as a trip to Ireland to visit his cousins - and their myriad of animals which pleased him a great deal but not as much as the discovery that tractors are real, not just in books! Joy!

Meanwhile I have been rushing about replacing lost passports (left behind on plane) in readiness for a trip to the US - very stressful and no time to be writing anything except forms forms and more forms.

Today the baby is poorly, he threw up and sat about looking sad and tired so an early nap seemed called for. I hope when he wakes he will be able to take some water or milk without it coming straight back up again. It always frightens me (in the deep dark secret bits of your brain hidden beneath the logic that it's probably just a tummy bug or something he ate) to put him to sleep when he is ill, in a room where I can't see him and monitor him, afraid he might get worse or die or something. I know he'll be fine, but the dark bits of you worry in these moments.

But yesterday the sun shone and he was well. We played in the garden and giggled at peeping at each other through the windows of a tent/sun-shelter and for one brief second, as he let go of one hold and reached for another, he stood up, unaided. He didn't realise it and I wished the moment had lasted longer so I could truly have reveled in it and congratulated him, but there he was, standing, holding on to thin air.

Things are going to get busier.

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.