Making biscuits

Your mummy is a trooper.

Despite her advanced state of pregnancy, she is always trying to do interesting and interactive things to keep you busy. You're lucky. If I raised you alone, you would be living on a diet of Top Gear and Monster Munch.

Here is a lovely video of you making biscuits with mummy (for daddy.)

Stepping it up a gear

In every way, you are stepping up a gear at the minute. You keep coming out with more and more remarkable little nuggets. At the hospital, when we went with mummy for a check up, we had to see a number of different people. By the time it came to seeing the consultant, she finished checking mummy over and you said to her, "No complications then?"

The lady looked astounded and then said no, young man, no complications.

The fact that you didn't understand what you were saying made it all the more funny.You had obviously picked this up from one of the previous medical professionals prodding at mummy's tummy.

You've also stepped it up at home. You are less contrary of late, but you have taken to picking arguments when you are in the mood.

The best example of these arbitrary arguments is when you said something and I said, "Yeah, big time!" You went on to insist that it was, in fact, 'Little time.' Again, you had no idea why, but you wanted to pick an argument. Because I didn't yield (because I'm too proud and if you think I will just let you be right when I know you are wrong, you can shut up) you ended up a blubbering wreck on the floor, screaming, "IT'S LITTLE TIIIIIIME!"

Hilarious.

On the other hand, you are being unbelievably affectionate and wonderful. You seem to have really pumped that up since it dawned on you there will be a little baby sister to contend with soon. Interesting.

Doing a poo. Reading Fight Club.

You have been much better of late with your potty. Yesterday, you grabbed it, said "I'm doing a poo," then picked up my book and started reading. 

I had to take a picture.

Ticklish ears

You have very ticklish ears. Your mummy sent this to me the other day whilst I was at work. For obvious reasons, it brightened up my day.

No more work for mummy

Your mummy has now officially finished work to have your baby sister.

Your mummy, by the way, is very full of baby at the minute. She wants to sleep every three or four minutes and gets breathless from blinking, much less anything else.

She is getting through bottle after bottle of budget Gaviscon and the other day her left leg became fat and swollen whilst the other remained the same.

Here's some cakes:

The farm

We went to our first little 'school trip' recently. It was to Oak Farm Park. You had a great time fannying about in the sand, looking at animals' faces and playing in the soft play area.

Our favourite two bits were when a turkey was violently killing a chicken and a woman suffered a horrible injury.

Drag races

You look absolutely fabulous in these pictures, darling.

And only a tiny bit like George Galloway.

Cousins!

Alex, Charisse and Adelaide came over last week. It was great to watch the two of you just be. Just exist in the same space and time.

Christ!

This beautiful picture speaks for itself.

A couple of beauties!

Both your mummy and I have this picture as the backgrounds on our iPads at the minute.

Bowling

You had bowling for the first time a couple of weeks ago. This was because Dawn, Tom and Charlotte came up from Brighton and there isn't enough room in our house to entertain everyone (Toria, Scott and Jordan were also about.)

Everyone was universally awful. Even daddy.

You genuinely came third out of nine players.

Even though you were as dog shit as the rest of us.

Helping out a new boy

I picked you up from nursery the other day and was greeted with a very lovely story of something that had happened during the course of the day. Usually, I almost can't stand listening to the nursery staff talk about your day. It's excruciating. That sounds horrible, but it's a fact. I'd almost sooner they said literally nothing and just handed you back in the cold way they truly want to hand you back to me.

I think it's the concept of receiving the information about your day via you. For example: the feedback always opens the same: "Noah's had a lovely day today, haven't you, Noah?" As if you might say no. Then it's, "You've played in the sand pit; you've had a game of football; you've loved playing on the bikes, haven't you?" And all the while, I make a point not to react to any of it because I want to make the point that the conversation she is having is with you and not with me. I am made to feel like I am eavesdropping on a very one way conversation. I don't feel even remotely involved.

The other day was everso slightly different because after the generic feedback aimed indirectly at me, via you, one of the other nurses told a proper anecdote about your day. It went like this:

There was a new boy in the nursery and he was doing nothing but cry, cry, cry because he wasn't used to it. The nursery staff asked you to look after him (we like to think you were given the burden of this responsibility because you are an inherently warm and loving boy; just the kind of boy this situation required.) Anyway, you stopped what you were doing, went and grabbed the boy by the hand and said, "C'mon, I'll show you the trains!"

That killed me!

Then, this same staff member who told me that story said she watched you both. The boy was still crying, "Mummy! Mummy!" You put your hand on his shoulder, looked into his teary eyes and said,
"Mummy's gone to work." So he moved on to,
"Daddy! Daddy!" and you replied,
"Daddy's gone to work as well."
I think what your mummy and I both loved about that story is the fact that you sound like a wise old hand of the institution. You're kind of like Red in The Shawshank Redemption.

When we get home from nursery, your mummy is usually still at work, so we have a nice little routine. We each have a nice cup of tea and a biscuit.

It was over this tea and biscuits that I asked you about the boy. I asked you, "Why was that boy crying?" You put your biscuit down, gulped your tea and said,
"Because he hasn't got any words."
I loved this explanation because it showed your understanding. I think it showed you understood the boy's frustration because he was unable to communicate properly and this was adding to his woes of missing his parents. Lovely.

When mummy was home, I wanted her to hear you say that lovely thing. So I asked you the question again, "Noah, why was that little boy crying at nursery?"

You had a good think, then answered:

"Because...because....errrrmmmmm...because...dinosaurs don't...like...eggs...?

Profound.

Rockstar

No, you haven't grown loads. This is no guitar. It is a uke. You aren't exactly a natural but you have always enjoyed a sing song and so who are we to tell you you aren't any good?

Getting you to say why

As previously mentioned, you are all about 'why' at the moment. So we tried to get you on film. 

Inadvertently, we captured another of your little gifts of wisdom in this clip.

Why?

So you've hit the famous, 'Why?' phase. This means that, every other sentence your mummy and I say to you is met with a repetition of what we've just said, followed with the word why. Example:

"Noah, can we put your shoes on, please?"
"Put my shoes on, why?"

Or
"It's time for some lunch, Noah."
"Time for some lunch, why?

Or
"Mummy can't understand a word you are saying Noah, she's drunk again."
"She's drunk again, why?"

And on and on.

It is still in a bit of a novelty phase where it is still funny to hear you say it every time, but we are confident that will wear off in days rather than weeks.

It already grates sometimes.