A well deserved break for Ag

Poor Aggy!

After a very busy finish to the school year, Noah was on his worst behaviour. He was teething and frustrated with his rubbish crawl. Daddy was tired and a bit under the weather.

It looked like the holidays were going to be a disaster.

But then...

The green bucket: our new, budget babysitter

It turns out Noah loves water. Absolutely loves the water. We didn't have a paddling pool so we filled up the laundry basket with cold water, popped it in the shade, then bumbled Noah into it. Perfect for a hot day. It's great too, because he can't really get out so we can leave him for ages and do our own things.

But then, all Noah's christmases came at once. His auntie Dawn gave him a paddling pool. And just look at how happy his little, chubby face is.

Fat baby

Noah is a fat baby. We have been saying that for ages. And we're pretty sure everyone who sees him says how cute he is then tuts behind our backs at how big he is. As a friend of mine put it, he "really has stacked it on."

When he was born, Noah's weight was bang on the 50th percentile. This, for those of you not in the know, means he couldn't be more average if he tried. After a few months, whilst plotting Noah's new weight in the red baby book graph thing, we found that he had shifted gears and stepped up to the 71st percentile. This means that 70% of babies in this country who are the same age as Noah, weigh less than him. Cheryl and I exchanged a glance, shared a smile at this, and continued to feed him normally, as we always have.

Fast forward to today. Noah polished off a little bowl of mashed up spaghetti bolognese and we decided to weigh him again. 10.2kg. I went and dug out his little red book (after not looking at it for a while) and plotted his new weight. I checked it. Then checked it again.

"Cheryl?" I said. "What percentile was Noah when we last checked, can you remember?"
"Roughly 70", came the answer.
"Oh," I said. "Because now he is at 92nd percentile". There was a pause.
"Well, he's nearly the best at something already!" said Cheryl, wisely.

Noah just smiled and ate his third pudding.

Mamma and Ag

Noah has been 'talking' for a little while. He doesn't make any sense and there have been no real discernible words but he has been making stupid, non-stop bumbling noises. However,  in the past week, his drunken sounding mumblings have begun to take a little shape. Firstly his, "Mamamamamamamam" has become simply, "Mamma". Yes it's very cute and lovely, blah blah blah, but where the hell is daddy in all of this? Cheryl was even sort of apologising when we couldn't shut him up screaming, "Mamma!" at the top of his lungs at Richard next door. She said that, all day whilst waiting for Jeremy Kyle to come on the tele (or the repeat on ITV+1), she has been showing him a picture of me and saying, "Da-ddy...Da-ddy!" 

But nothing.

I would look Noah in his little arrogant face and very calmly, with perfect diction and enunciation say slowly, "Da-ddy". Noah waits, looks smug, then just says, "Mamma". He loves her more than me, I get it. He does need bringing down a peg or two though. I told him so myself. I don't mind saying it to his face. Like I'm scared of him.

Yesterday morning, however, things changed. The jumped up little chubster finally gave me something back. From his room, we could here him shouting, "AG!...AG!" I know it doesn't look much like 'Daddy' written down, but we can safely say, with 100% certainty that he is saying, "Dad."

I love him really.
(Now that he's finally sort of saying my name.)

Every little helps

Today, I was faced with a moral dilemma. It's a dilemma that everyone will have faced in their own ways and to varying degrees. Okay, here goes. Today I was making tuna pasta salad. I needed tomatoes. I grabbed a £2 coin; ran to tesco express; grabbed a box (or whatever) of tomatoes; paced to the self check-out (there was no one around) and saw a load of coins in the change bit. This wasn't my change, but it did have pounds in it. I immediately checked the notes bit: empty. I looked over my shoulder and considered telling the till lady...no till lady. I continued my transaction, scanning through my vat of tomatoes as though I hadn't seen the change and then, after putting in my own £2 coin, I pocketed all the change and ran home. I took in £2, bought a wagon-load of tomatoes, and walked out with £4.82.

Here is the horrible truth. This may divide people. But I was never going to hand that money in. Never. As soon as that busy single mum with her shopping or chav with his dole money or old dear with her pension or that millionaire with his fists full of cash or whoever it was made their mistake, I was the opportunistic scavenger with one thing on my mind. Cheers.

Every little helps.

It's only a picture of his walker, that's all

His walker is what has given Noah the most independence so far. If he wants a look about, bung him in the walker; when we get bored of watching him, we bung him in the walker; if we need to pop to the shops and leave him here, bung him in the walker. So far, the walker has been indispensable. Noah loves it too.

Take a look.

Just a picture of a walker, right?

Look again...

That's right. He loves his walker so much, he did a poo in it.

He's like a ginger tomcat marking his territory.

Daddy monster

EDIT: After having written this blog, Cheryl pointed out that I'd already done it. Be that as it may, I have not deleted this entry. Live with it.

Noah is a fearless boy. There is no reason for him to fear anything. As responsible parents, we enshroud him in this lovely security so that he feels nothing but safe and happy. This is the best way to give him the best shot at this life.

However, there is one thing neither mummy or daddy can protect Noah from: Daddy Monster. For some inexplicable reason, perhaps from the stress of dealing with children all day with endless patience, Daddy sometimes stops being daddy. He becomes The Daddy Monster.

Here he is, caught on camera. Approach with caution.

Noah new noise

In this week of discovery, here is Noah showcasing his new favourite noise to make. He loves doing this. And saying 'mummy'. 

But not 'daddy'.

A new cousin is imminent

It seems that the boy has stepped it up a gear this week. He has been trying to learn as many things as humanly possible because he is getting ready to show off to his imminent cousin. He keeps asking questions like: "Mummy, what will my cousin look like?" and "Daddy, what toys does my cousin like to play with?" and "Can I go round and play with my cousin, please?"

He has been so excited that he has been unable to sleep properly. Despite how tired he gets, whenever we put him down he rolls over and giggles then climbs the wall of his cage. Cot.

Anyway, his auntie Charisse will be in labour very soon so we are all sending our love. We are all so excited!

How big the changes; how rose-tinted our glasses

We feel that we are guilty of all the same offences as any other proud parents: we think that Noah is far and away the most beautiful, clever, talented human being on the planet. Even from birth, knowing that all new borns look like overgrown frogs, we were still convinced that Noah was the exception to the rule. It was funny, then, when we looked back at some of the early Noah videos. He looks like - you guessed it - an overgrown frog.

He doesn't any more, mind you. He is now far and away the most perfect creature on Earth (we are just waiting for a letter from NASA stating this fact and requesting us to allow his perfection to be studied in a lab).

With those things in mind, we did find an old video that, despite his froggy looks, still manages to be cute.

Riddit.

Noah's eye view: the neighbours

With his intelligence and curiosity growing on a daily basis, Noah seems to want to know everything. In recent days, he has developed a fascination with the blind man next door. On warm days, the man (who we won't name here) sits outside his back door, enjoying the sun. Meanwhile, Noah wheels up to the open door and stares at him in wonder. Then he will giggle and then look serious, like he is desperate to know what is going on. We tell the man that Noah is there looking at him and we encourage Noah to say hello to him. 

Anyway, we took this picture because it encapsulates the world through Noah's big, blue, perfect eyes.

The new test devised by MI5

Noah and his mummy were approached in Hinckley by an MI5 agent. He asked if Noah would like to serve his country. He said, "It would be an honour, your highness," and then bowed. Cheryl was a little embarrassed and explained to Noah that the man wasn't royalty. Anyway, the long and the short of it was, they took a load of pictures of Noah and took them back to the secret headquarters. When they are interrogating terrorists they show them these pictures and if the terrorist doesn't go, "Awwww!" then they know they have been truly radicalised and are dead inside. Then they ship them to Guantanemo. Easy.

Apparently even Abu Qatada wept like a girl and said "Omfg that's the cutest thing everrrr!"

What a literate boy

Given the choice of any of the books on his shelf, Noah always picks this. ?He said he loves it because it's Daddy's favourite and now he practically knows the whole book from start to finish. 

He's like an 8 month old John Wilkes Booth. 

We're so proud.

"I don't know if you heard, Mummy, but I stand up now"

Said Noah with an air of confidence bordering on arrogance.

You can't shut him up about it.

Water torture and a chatty boy

We forced Noah to talk. We are like the Assad regime and Noah's like a Syrian rebel.

Abbey Park

Abbey Park, for the uninitiated, is a staple of Leicester life. Sure, some of it smells of piss but generally, on a good day, it's pretty special. First of all, here I am doing stunts off of the budget roller coaster (swings).

Despite Noah's miserable looking face he had a blast. He wouldnt shut up about it for days. He kept going on about aunty Dawn pulling loads of funny faces

Noah loves mummy so much

Writing this as Noah's dad, I know he loves me. When he sees me after work, his little face smiles and his legs go mental and he looks all excited. But he loves his mummy a thousand times more. I'm absolutely fine with that. It is lovely to watch him watch her float around the house doing mummy things. If she leaves the room, he will look at the door, or try to look round it. Then when she comes backhe forgets about anything else and stares at Cheryl. So this blog is dedicated to that love.

Our family

A bit self-indulgent. Sue us.

Andy Murray wins Wimbledon

We got some historic footage of this event (by accident, whilst filming the boy).

There is also a portrait of Murray's success by one of our favourite artists (Chris (Simpsons artist))

Noah has bean eating

Bean-eating is Noah's new favourite thing. His mummy prepares some lovely dishes: chicken dinner; mackerel and potato; spaghetti bolognese; and loads more. Yet there is nothing he likes more than beans. Cheapo, Lidl's own brand from a dented can and no ingredients information beans. Nom nom nom.

Cheryl was plying Noah with budget beans the other day when the doorbell went. After the Jehovah's witness had explained why we are all sinners and will all soon die, Cheryl returned to Noah and there was chaos. Here is evidence of said chaos:

Daddy Monster

Sometimes, when it's been a long day and I want nothing to eat but baby flesh, I turn into a monster. Daddy monster. Noah is learning how to deal with this psychological anomaly in my brain. It's like budget Jekyll and Hyde in our house. Here is some footage of the flesh-eating daddy monster.

It's been a long, busy old month

Friday was the last day for me at my old school. Having managed to get a job at a school that I can literally see from my house, I will no longer have to commute for 2 hours every day. With that said, it's not ever easy leaving a school. There is so much to do to make sure loose ends have been tied up and then there is the problem of saying goodbye to everyone. Luckily for me, about a thousand other people left as well so the limelight wasn't solely on me. It was still quite an emotional time saying goodbye to some people.

Meanwhile, back at home, Cheryl has been stoical as ever with Noah. This week, she really needed to be. He's lucky we love him so much because, at times, we could have happily dropped him off at Tesco's and let him be raised by part time till staff and trolley collectors. 

It has not all been for no good reason, though. This week, Noah has stepped it up a gear in terms of development. His top teeth have finally broken through and yesterday...he started crawling. 

Don't believe us?

A lack of blogging

In our minds we had set out to be quite prolific with Noah's blog. We wanted it to be witty, up to date and entertaining. Recently, we realilse that we haven't been particularly prolific or entertaining. With it being Noah's birthday today (8 month and 1 day birthday) we wanted to turn over a new leaf and be original, consistant and non-lazy.

With that said, here is a a short video that taught us how we should wean Noah.

Educational and informative.

Crawling. Or not.

You can hear him blurt out a frustrated scream about half way through.

Screaming at a balloon.

Enough said.

Culturals learnings of a 7 month old boy

We are very keen to give Noah a breadth of various different cultural experiences. We try and read him important literary works like I Want my Hat Back or The Tiger Who Came to Tea:

We like to share classic, important films like Citizen Kane (in Noah's opinion, Welles' performance is sublime and it is, without doubt, the greatest film ever created.)

On his mobile there is Bach and Mozart; he will be the boy who knows that the capital of St Kitts and Nevis is, in fact, Basseterre; he'll have an opinion on the political problems in Egypt and he'll have a solution for the Israel-Palestine conflict etc etc. He especially loves Jeremy Kyle:

So, with his new found curiosity for all things great, he asked his mummy and I what we thought was one of the best live performances ever. We showed him this, and he loved it (as you can see):

What a great mover.

Development of the boy

Noah is just under 7 and a half months and his development seems to be on the verge of some gigantic leap. It feels as though he has reached the base camp at Everest and he is preparing for a mighty climb. Constantly unhappy with what he has in his hands and always, instead, wanting whatever is just out of his reach, he is living in something of a perpetual, frustrated limbo. He has reached the point where he knows that he can do things and eat things and engage with things but he lacks the mobility to get them for himself. He is strong and squirmy and currently virtually impossible to hold for more than 5 minutes because he wears you down with his relentlessness. He's like the terminator in the first film after he's been chopped in half. Sadly, unlike the half-terminator, Noah cannot crawl. He can sit up straight and  reach for things with his hands like a 60stone bedbound American woman, but any kind of true mobility continues to evade him.

This, of course, has been a brilliant source of fun for Cheryl and I as we leave things just out of his podgy reach and watch his frustration (and skills) blossom.