Dave The Dad 35 - 15 weeks and Counting
Harry here. It’s a funny old thing this place: less wet for one and not quite as pink.It wasn’t that long ago since I was sloshing about, curled up comfortably in a cushioned ball, all I ever needed doled out or in on the end of a conveniently placed rope. Everything was sorted: I was warm, I was cosy, and I was constantly fed. If things got a little cramped now and then, well, at least I could kick my legs out and get a response. Time was I could get mum to leap out of her seat –Eastenders or not- with the merest of sharp leg straightenings.
Nowadays when I’m lying on my back I can kick and kick when I want something and the only response I get is a goofy smile or a laugh. The male one sometimes puts his face on my belly and makes a farting noise, despite my abundantly clear message that this scares the devil out of me. Still he perseveres. Lord knows what that’s all about!
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On the bright side I have found other, more interesting ways in which to grab all the attention. Shouting is great! For a while after I was duped into emerging –I only poked my head out to see what the fuss was about and I got yanked skywards!- I only had access to a relatively high-pitched warble. OK so this was useful but it wasn’t very enlightening to those around me. Now, however, I’ve got many strings to my bow. I limber up by throwing my head back, waggling my arms and kicking my legs, before I focus and then just let go. I’ve got the whole damn caboodle. High notes, low notes, screeching, warbling, oh-ing, ah-ing, and my very favourite, the 30 second baritone disapproval-groan. Honestly? I don’t know how I manage it myself. Of course it is easy to get carried away but hey! What’s a boy to do when he wants some attention?
The beauty is that recently I found that I can make noises through other parts of my body too. Now I don’t know if everyone can do this but I’m learning how to use all the other holes for effect. And I thought they were just for show! It’s a simple technique really. I push and push and push. Then, after a little break, I push some more. Then push a bit. Then push and push and push. Break. Then, you’ve guessed it, if I push just a tiny bit more I find that I can make a noise with my bum. The first time I did this it wasn’t great as I scared myself and cried like a baby. Obviously. It wasn’t my fault, it snuck up on me! I mean c’mon, there I was, have a lie-down after some food when all of a sudden this tremor passed through my lower body and a rasping honk almost flung me from the sofa. You’d cry too. Since then I’ve learnt how to control it a bit. It’s all in the pushing, and now that I’ve learned to do this in my sleep it saves a whole lot of time. Ideally I like to start at about 5 in the morning. Well, it’s dark and there’s not much else happening. It’s not perfect as I do have to grunt and squeeze and groan and moan and thrash and grunt and moan and squeeze and thrash and moan and grunt but hey! we’re all asleep so no-one loses!
Before you know it, suddenly it’s morning. The Lookerafterers are at their funniest then as they peer over into the cot. It can be alarming, true, to see these faces like novelty balloons appearing over the edge, all grinning and gurning. But after the initial shock you’d laugh too. They probably take it as a sign of re-awakened love or some such but to see their sleep-rimed faces, puffy and blotchy, it would make a donkey titter. Sometimes I laugh until I’m sick. Sometimes I’m just sick. Now this seems to bother them more than me. Personally, the way I see it, just let it out. If it’s a dribble then there’s no particular reason to do much other than let it squeak along my cheek unnoticed, but if it’s a fountain then I find it helps to waggle my head about a bit. This has the added bonus of making the adults run around more, which makes me laugh. Also, funnily enough, this sometimes makes me sick again. What are the chances! And then sometimes, for no apparent reason, I explode, like a warm, milky geyser. I have to say, this makes me laugh too.
It’s about this time that they usually insist on getting me naked (which I don’t like) and changing my nappy (which I do). I only like this because it gives me a great opportunity to play the mystery splashing game. The rules to this are simple. I wait until the nappy has been unhitched and peeled back before, in one swift motion, I try to tear my feet from the outstretched adult hand in order to kick them furiously into the area of my backside in the hope of catching out whatever the hell it is down there that makes them pull such faces. I suspect I’ve been successful if I hear splashing but it’s the mad panic etched onto the faces of mum and dad which really wins the game. Makes me laugh. Most things do, happily, especially the company. Maybe it’s not such a bad place after all, although I think we could all do without quite so much Eastenders.
David Fouracre
November 2008 |
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