We’ve introduced the boy child to his third parent. It was a touching moment, seeing his little face light up stunned before gurgling at its beauty. He smiled and we knew they had bonded.
Oh yes, the boy baby has started watching television. A proud little moment for us all. Go for your life little chap. Some call it the TV but we like to say the third parent. It makes it even more special in our home. Those much needed moments of a little peace and quiet so you can perform yet another task on the list of endless domestic chores, or just sit for approximately three seconds before another potential suicide attempt from either child occurs during the split second you close your eyes to ensure you allow your eyeballs some moisture.
Yesterday during that crazy moment of blinking, my daughter was climbing each stair and throwing items at the boy baby’s back to see if she could get him. Not out of anger, more as a form of challenge. “No, please don’t use your brother for target practice” isn’t something you expect to say as a parent, but then again nor is “No, please stop licking the DVDs….eating tissues….picking the bogeys out of your brother’s nose (although this did save me a job) or stripping off while I’m at fat club (baby weight loss still going strong.” There was an upside to the target practice as she did hit him on nearly every occasion and kept saying “Mummy, look I’m climbing higher” before pelting whatever it was at the crawling bairn’s back. Hard to be that cross when the baby is laughing and her aim is something to feel proud about.
And that brings me to another point, the boy child is crawling, well for three months now he’s been doing this arm dragging body movement akin to a wounded soldier at the end of an American film sobbing while using all his strength to move away from a bomb scene.
That isn’t actually a sigh of a proud parent. It’s the sigh of disbelief that he is going places. He’s already found the Christmas tree and cannot stop pulling his body over to any kind of wire he can see before using those two bottom teeth to give it a good gnaw. Fingers crossed he doesn’t go through the plastic. Enter dark thought here. Christmas would be somewhat different from what I’d hoped.
My daughter didn’t crawl until ten months and I had such high hopes he would be a late developer too. Sadly not. May footbind him though to help prolong that whole walking thing.
So I digress, my cute little baby who is growing just so rapidly is now being shown the ways of the world through Nina and the Neurons (his favourite), Peppa Pig and the various other televisual entertainment options I happily put on repeat when I feel near the end of that ole tether.
He definitely has a few favourite presenters, one from Beebies and another from Milkshake.
I love how pretty much every parent I know seeks such solace in the form of Postman Pat or Fireman Sam. How knowing you have that last resort as a go to is such a relief. I don’t feel bad, crumbs, yesterday we all even learnt just how volcanos happen – Nina, she knows her stuff – and Fatima Whitbread, sorry Andy, from Beebies, he is teaching my little rug rats a thing or two about animals. Plus, competitive parents out there – get your kids onto Alphablocks, there’s a lot to be said for those cartoon characters. Ashamed, no siiiireeeee.