It’s been a quiet week here at Poo Pants Towers mainly because Captain Poo Pants and his mum have been out of town for a few days whilst some lads came and sanded our downstairs floors. This respite has given me a chance to catch up with some of my leisure activities like having a proper shower and not going downstairs.
We did however have a couple of days at the start of the week before they headed off.
We gave our old sofa away to charity so I’d have one less thing to swear at when I came to clearing the lounge of furniture on Wednesday. Some blokes were due to come and pick it up at about 12 so it was an annoying surprise when they turned up at 9. The polite thing to do would have been to sit in the van outside my house for 3 hours whilst I got myself sorted but they didn’t agree.
Following my well received blog post on blotchy skin last week (what do you mean you missed it?), I was alarmed at what I thought was Captain Poo Pants’s swollen and red arm. Obviously my first instinct was that he’d been bitten by a snake or other non-indigenous reptile and would require some sort of fast acting antidote. Inevitably the height of my panic was the point at which blokes knocked on the door for the sofa. I raced downstairs with Captain Poo Pants just in a nappy under my arm, chucked him in his chair with a blanket over him and opened the door. As I was explaining to the van lads that the sofa is the big soft thing with 4 legs, I turned round to see that Captain Poo Pants was devouring the blanket, like a spinster with a sheet of marzipan at a wedding, and would have eaten the whole thing had I not turned round to check on him. The blokes were also going to take a couple of big bags of clothes so I thrust these into their hands whilst yanking the blanket out of the baby’s mouth with my other hand. The biggest moment of panic that morning was as they were driving away and I convinced myself that I’d accidentally donated the bags my partner had packed for their time away later in the week (this coming hot on the heels of my having melted her cagoule in the tumble drier). Luckily I had donated the right bags (or at the very least she hasn’t noticed yet) and after careful and extensive monitoring the blotchy, swollen arm turned out just to be a normal arm.
Day 2 – the day of no smiles
This was the first day that Captain Poo Pants has spent with no visible signs of enjoyment. His teeth were being dickheads and he got incandescent with rage each time I put him down to take on fluids or do a thing. In the end, the only position he was satisfied with was with me standing up with him in my arms; the fingers of his left hand in his mouth, moaning and running the nails of the fingers in his right hand down my face. A really enjoyable 7 hours that was.
We did manage to get out for a walk round the park. The only people in the park during the week are people with buggies and people with dogs and I think a buggy is by far the best of the two. The latter spend the whole time preventing their dog having sex with other dogs which, on my list of things I look for in a pet, isn’t that high. Why do people have pets with such high sex drives?
We met one of the other NCT dads and baby in Wetherspoons (first trip to Wetherspoons – an important developmental milestone) where we received the admiration of a little old lady (who may or may not have had a few). Thankfully Captain Poo Pants was briefly mesmerised by the flashing lights on a fruit machine, which gave me some respite from the face scratching, and it got me thinking: Is it a better investment to put £1000 in a trust fund or to give the baby £1000 to invest in a fruity in Wetherspoons allowing him to bat the buttons as he sees fit? If anyone reading this has £2000 they need to launder, bung it over to me and I’ll happily knock it together into a blog post.
Day 3 onwards
My fatherly duties on day 3 were straightforward. We rose, as all perfect families do, shortly before the sun and watched a repeat of Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares whilst practising our groin squats. My last duty of the week was to give him his morning porridge and leaving him looking like a plasterer’s radio, I was done. A quick wash and change (and thankfully some smiles) later, him and his mum were on the road; this would be the longest period I’d spent without him since he was born.
One thing I was looking forward to was a proper sleep which in the event inevitably went like this.
1 hour sleep
Awake for half an hour when Captain Poo Pants usually wakes with his teeth for a bonjela-ing
1 hour sleep
Panicked awakening thinking ‘Oh shit where’s the baby’
3 hours’s sleep
Awake for half an hour when Captain Poo Pants usually wakes for a feed
1 hour sleep
Awake when Captain Poo Pants usually wakes up
2 hours of dribbly half consciousness
Wake up with a pounding headache because I’ve slept too long.
And so it came to pass that I won’t enjoy a night’s sleep ever again. Him and his mum got back last night. He has more hair, is making more cat noises than before but is still my one and only Captain Poo Pants.