The end of my parental leave is nigh. In my efforts to create an overnight fortune I’m even considering turning to some of the less well known and shitter lotteries; the health lottery, the postcode lottery, the Bolivian state lottery. If this blog and my face suddenly have a radical makeover you can guess I’ve been successful. As it stands I have to leave Captain Poo Pants with an expensive stranger in less than three weeks and then leave and get on a Southeastern train which really just adds insult to to being kicked in the cock.
Very early mornings
Some of the worst nights we’ve ever had have been followed by two really good ones this week. In technical terms this is ‘a false sense of security’. We had a couple of stupidly early mornings – waking at 4am and not really going back to sleep – so we’ve been watching some early morning cartoons. Now I’m older I definitely find myself sympathising with Tom more than Jerry. I think Jerry is a metaphor for our dreams and Tom’s persistent failure to catch him represents our own ultimately futile pursuit of happiness. Furthermore is it not Tom’s pursuit of Jerry from which he derives the pleasure? Would he be truly happy if he actually caught him? Who can say? Alternatively it might just be about Tom getting hit on the head with big hammers and I need to get some sleep.
Bum in the air
The good nights of sleep we’ve had have coincided with Captain Poo Pants getting himself into a new, ridiculous, sleeping position on his front with his bum stuck in the air. Not only that but he insists on being in the top corner of his cot so on the baby monitor you can just make out a speck on the horizon from which we’re supposed to discern whether everything’s okay or not – like being on watch the eve before the 2nd battle of El Alamein but arguably being quite a bit tireder (although less covered in sand).
We’re convinced that Captain Poo Pants is a lefty. He seems to use his left hand for all his favourite activities; sucking his fingers, grasping for snacks, playing willy banjo the second his nappy comes off.
A second way of playing with things
Until now ‘playing’ has meant grabbing things (plugs, gravel, viles of anthrax) and shoving them straight in his mouth. The last week has seen him learn a second, marginally safer, way of playing. Firstly passing an object from hand to hand and then deliberately dropping it to watch it fall before repeating over and over and over and over again. A wonderful way to spend an afternoon particularly when you haven’t slept for 72 hours.
Big choo choo
We had to get a big choo choo to take nana and gramps back to big London (I really need to start talking like a grown up again before I go back to work). This is all great preparation for when Captain Poo Pants inevitably has to commute for miles to a job he doesn’t care for.
For some reason by the time we got back he’d done the most wee he’s ever done. The nappy was heavier than a night time nappy and some of those require up to 3 people to lift into the bin.
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