I left it at that. One lesson I’ve learnt is never to double-re-quip.
Tom still has to comprehend this and so has discovered the frankly annoying habit of shrieking as though he were spontaneously combusting when things don’t go his way within the first 4/10ths of a second. That’s not to say he can’t do ‘unboverred’ as his budding raspberry-blowing shows. Coming back from holiday late on Friday night we discovered he even does this in his sleep. For a decent stretch between Arundel and Worthing all we heard in the car was the gentle purring of the engine and Tom’s mouth as it rasped and flubbered, despite all evidence showing that he was fast asleep. We’d always taken it for granted that when he was asleep he, well, slept.
Last week there was another incident that made me ponder our placid acceptance of some of the things we do with Tom. He’s at the excessive movement stage where he doesn’t really like sitting for long and seeks a constant change of emphasis. So although we mostly push him around in his fantastic Smoby Trike I like to sometimes haul him out and plop him onto my shoulders. It was only when an unknown parent approached me inquisitively to ask his age that I even questioned whether he should be up there. One glance at my reflection proved that although I consider Tom to be a right big lad -knocking at the door of semi-maturity- I had to admit he did look a bit like a novelty hat. You can’t lose sleep over everything and he loves it up there in the clouds, last week especially when he unexpectedly discovered my ears. They’ve been there for some time but I guess he’s only just got to the stage where he felt confident enough to go for a grab. All the same, being the sensitive chap he is there was no pulling and poking but rather a curt yet gentle flick, like someone shooing a fly. I probably wouldn’t have thought any more about it but the next flick produced one of Tom’s deep and guttering chuckles. Soon he was slapping my ears about as though he were Philip Marlowe and laughing like a drain, which is a pleasant departure from his other habit of smelling like one. I didn’t mind too much, this was better than the game of leaning forward onto my bald head and licking the few remaining bristles until the entire area is covered with drool. Who would have though a scalp could get sodden. The things you learn!
When Tom isn’t up there he’s now standing up. Two weeks ago in the garden he let go of my knee and took his first independent step. Since then he’s been practising standing upright and doing a variety of different tasks such as; holding things, falling forwards and then pushing himself back upright and, excitingly, taking more steps. We’re right pleased and would be more so if it wasn’t for the fact that we are aware Tom is already playing catch-up with a friend’s son in Eastbourne. Stan seems to have been walking for months already. In fact Dylan recently informed me that the main difficulty with Stan’s birth (two weeks before Tom) was that he was wearing clogs. Last week, at fifteen months, he apparently wanted to run a mini-marathon and would doubtless have done quite well if Eastbourne City Council hadn’t banned him on the grounds that sudden movements are dangerous there. Last Fireworks Night they lost a third of their population to heart attacks. We’re not competitive in any case, but we can see the Isle of Wight from our bedroom window whereas Stan’s parents can’t. So there.
By the Wednesday of half-term the weather had picked up and we were determined that Tom would experience the beauty of West Wittering beach. As I pulled his trousers on in the living room I was desperately trying not to snap a limb. Now that he can stand he has a preference for planting his feet and locking his knees, all of which gives him the flexibility of Frankenstein’s monster allied to the intractability of Darth Vader. Sometimes life’s too short for trousers. Oddly, Tom is often too long. Still we were going to the beach so I persevered and let him empty any and all drawers in sight in an act of random distraction. During this ransack, searching for items small enough to jam into the video/TV combo, Tom came across a box of Bratz Creative Artwork. I’d heard about this infamous gang of cartoon kids before; read parent’s complaints about the dire influence they had on their own offspring. Personally the only thing I noticed was the cruelty inherent in calling these girls Bratz when they have such obvious deformities. Not one nose amongst them, poor dears; no wonder they’re stroppy.
Still, no time for pity, we were going out into the sun, into the fresh air, onto the beach. The first thing Jane regretted when we got to the car park was that she had forgotten Tom’s spade. This took something of a back seat once it became blatantly clear that despite the crystal air, despite the calming surf, despite even the crowded sands, Tom would soon catch quadruple pneumonia if we stayed for more than ten minutes. It all started beautifully, with ‘a light stroll’ and ‘a bit of a sit’ but deteriorated swiftly into ‘a bit nippy’ and took a dramatic downturn into ‘he’s using his Cornetto to warm his hands’. Gorgeous place, I’m guessing even more gorgeous in the Summer. Having said that, the wind dried my head off a treat!
November 5 2006
Dave Fouracre
Dave Fouracre aka "Dave the Dad" is a regular feature writer here at thebabywebsite.com. Read more about his hilarious experiences as a Dad. |
