Conversations about babies

At the baby sensory class, we were talking at the end to a couple of other new parents; obviously about our children and stuff. This kind of conversation annoys and frustrates me terribly. The reason they annoy me is because all conversations between parents at any such class actually consist of is just a string of inane facts about the parent's own child. The conversation moves back and forth, with each person contributing vapid tripe about what time their children go to bed; what they eat; what they like to play with etc etc. So, written down, it might look something like this:

Parent 1: My baby has moved onto solids now.

Parent 2: My baby, too, has moved onto solids. Mine likes rusks in milk.

Parent 1: Mine likes baby rice.

Parent 2: We tried ours with baby rice but ours doesn't like it.

Parent 1: We tried ours with it and it liked it straight away.

Parent 2: Our baby goes to sleep at the night time and then wakes up some irrelevant amount of time later.

Parent 1: Ours goes to sleep and then wakes up, too, but at a slightly different, equally irrelevant time.

Parent 2: Our baby wears clothes.

Parent 1: Same. Our baby also wears disposable nappies to trap their faeces and piss.

Parent 2: Ours wears reusable nappies.

Parent 1: Our baby likes to sleep in the daytime.

Parent 2: We can't get our baby to sleep in the daytime much.

Parent 1: When our baby won't sleep at night time, we wish we were dead.

...this goes on until it stops. Sometimes up to ten hours later. Then both parents wander away. So much life has been wasted in this pointless vacuum of conversation oblivion.

Where was I? Ah yes: baby sensory.

I was chatting to the only other dad there and I felt myself getting drawn into a conversation much like this. Sometimes, you just can't avoid it. I can't stand the nothingness and the one upmanship of everyone thinking they are doing everything better for their child than you are for yours. Anything you are doing for your child is scrutinized to the nth degree and everyone is an expert. Everyone who is a parent knows more than you do. Everyone. With that in mind, I seized the moment to end our conversation and said, "C'mon, Noah, let's go and get you a yummy McDonald's." I thought it was funny. I also thought Cheryl would have found it funny, but Cheryl had already wandered away so I looked like I was being serious.

I bet they had a lovely time huffing and scoffing at us all the way home.

Still, Noah wolfed that Big Mac down like an urban fox in a nursery. Chicken coop. I meant chicken coop.

Photos of Noah, blah blah blah...WHAT HAPPENED TO MY NECK?!

Sure there is a bit of a chin in this one but I can put this down to the fact that we were watching 24 and it was a particularly tense scene...

This is the offensive one. All the folds and creases look unnatural. That's what Noah is trying to look up at and figure out. Christ!

"Daddy," said Noah, "my neck won't be like yours, will it?"
"Yes, Noah." I said with a smile. "Yes."

Baby sensory: now with added Daddy

For one week only, Daddy was able to attend baby sensory. It's one of Noah's favourite things to do because he is smug about how more advanced he is against the other children who go there. We are bound to say this because we are his parents but, at the same time, it is true. Deal with it.

It's just getting too simple for him. Show your baby the teddy: boring. Play in the ball pit: yawn. Sing some stupid song: ZZZzzzz. Next week we are enrolling him in an army recruitment exercise class and advanced mathematics.

That said, he still enjoys it. Look how happy he was in the morning when we told him where he was going today:

And then the cutest video you have ever seen. It shits all over Charlie Bit My Finger.

Mummy and Noah's birthday presents to Daddy.

This was my first ever birthday present from Noah. He made this with a large amount of help from Cheryl because he lacks the basic motor function and dexterity due to the fact that he is 0.5 years old and his muscles and co-ordination are still, like him, in their infancy. That said, he still managed to dip his feet in paint and plop them onto the side of this frame. I love it.

Arguably, the even better surprise was this cake. It was a quadruple chocolate cake with oreo and sweet cream filling. This was Cheryl's first attempt at such an audacious cake and by god did it pay off. It seemed too big for us to eat but we shamelessly managed it in way under one week.

Happy birthday to me, indeed.

"Bullshit, try drinking from a '3 teet'"

This is a picture of uncle Harvey drinking budget Jagermeister from a '3 teet'. Apparently it's much harder than it sounds.

We had to triple boil all of the sin out of the bottles before Noah could use them again.

Noah's travels

Noah found some pictures from his mum and dads travels and he said he wanted to go travelling too. He quickly packed a bag with some nappies, milk and bear and then headed to the airport for the next available flight. He sent us some pictures to show us what he had been up to.

Noah is back home now. He said he ran out of milk but we know it's because he missed us.

Demanding wriggly worm

Cheryl decided to play a little trick on Noah. When he was being a little worm of a boy, demanding nothing but 100% of his mummy's attention, she pretended to abandon him briefly. You can hear how quickly he descends from smiley and happy to screamy and whiney...then back to smiley again.

Eating Wotsits; window-licking; sheep-stroking and more

Grandad, uncle Harvey and Noah. Chilling.

Baby stress

They say it's dead stressful having a baby. I never listen to what they have to say. I am a maverick. Or I was. Until I saw these photos of me entertaining Noah.

I look like a man on the edge.

The first stage of recovery is admitting that you need help. Turns out, I need it.

The lovely thing to think is: whilst I somehow look like a man on the verge of a breakdown here, Cheryl thought this was ripe fodder for documenting and archiving. Cheers, Cheryl.

Mummy photos are in short supply

Having some time to get down to updating this blog now, I have noticed that there is a large gap in the photos that we need to fill: mummy photos. There are lots of just Noah and Noah and his daddy; there are even lots of Noah and various animals, other family or strangers doing cross-stitch. There are too few of Noah and mummy. This is a crying shame, seeing as Noah really takes after his mummy more than hobo-looking daddy. This, I realise, is because I must be lazy with the camera and instead, allow Cheryl to try to encapsulate and document Noah's early childhood much to herself. It's tough taking pictures of yourself. So in the near future I will do a proper blog putting this right. For now, here are just a few of the precious few Noah and mummy pictures in existence.

The modern day cherub

Since Noah got his eating problem and piled on loads of weight, we can't help but compare him to a cherub.

Here is a stereotypical cherub (an angelic looking baby holding roses or some other flowers):

And here's Noah. He's more of a modern day cherub as he is holding an iPad:

Whilst I could never possibly condone cannibalism, if someone literally ate our baby and it went to court and the person's defense was: I had to eat him; he looked so delicious, the prosecution wouldn't have a leg to stand on. The judge would have to let them go and apologise for wasting their time.

Disclaimer: I will probably never eat a baby.

A plea to social services

This is the first ever picture taken purely by Noah. Somehow he got his hands on the iPad, turned on the camera app, then took this image. It looks like a plea for help. Just look at mummy in the background making a fist and shouting (what must only have been) obscenities at the boy. What makes it more heartbreaking is that Noah doesn't really look all that bothered. Obviously, he has been so desensitised to all the violence that he no longer even flinches.

Perhaps all the 'are you scared of a man this big?' training has paid off.

What's wrong with this image?

Hinckley is a funny place. By funny I mean odd. You never quite know what you are going to find on a trip into Hinckley. So when Cheryl sent me this picture at work and asked, "What's wrong with this image?" I first questioned whether or not Noah had now begun drinking Oasis instead of his wholesome baby milk. Then I looked closer. Why is this man, dressed in jeans, a puffer jacket, baseball cap and oversized headphones...

Doing cross-stitch?!

Collage of the boy

Enough said.

Not quite talking; not quite crawling; not quite teething

These seem to be things we have been saying for a while. Noah does seem rather advanced for his age; but then we are his parents and have no choice but to arrogantly say this whether it is true or not. He does chatter to himself in the morning when he wakes up and we try and find words in his mumblings. It's a bit like trying to find pictures in clouds. He is also so close to crawling that it's almost painful to watch. He engages his arms and legs, but never at the same time. Then there are his teeth. Every couple of days his cheeks go pink and Cheryl and I nod at each other and say, "Oh, look who's teething again," and, of course, there is no more tooth action. 

We don't want to be wishing his life away. Far from it. But he does need to pull his finger out of his inevitably pooey arse and get progressing.

Anyway, here are a couple of lovely pictures of Noah with his long haired dad.

Baby sensory class, thing

I took Noah to some baby sensory sensation class. There was a free taster run by a cyborg lady who didn't appear to have any discernible personality behind her cold eyes. The class was essentially a room full of cushions and lights and a music player and blankets. That said, Noah really enjoyed himself. Really enjoyed himself. The best thing was the fact that he was so much better than all the other babies.

Photos that make you want to bleeuuuugghhh

Noah: the bathtime savant

Noah loves bathtime. We knew that already. We recently found out, however, that Noah also loves letters. Loves them! It turns out, Noah is a genius! This morning, we gave him a bath and poured in all of his bathtime sponge letter things. At first, all he seemed to want to do was chew a 'D' to death. 

Cheryl went to get him some clothes and I started brushing my teeth. When I looked back down, this is what he had done!

"Is that how you spell it, Daddy?" He asked, now choosing the letter 'G' to get his two teeth into. I smiled and said, "Yes, Noah. What a clever boy!" He smiled back. I called into the other room excitedly because I wanted Cheryl to witness this incredible moment. By the time we looked back, he'd done this.

We were impressed with his ability to understand the difficult concept of irony at such an early age. How can a baby who cannot yet even form the most basic words be able to spell out a five letter word on his own body?

Idiot or genius?