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.

You love the planets

There's this video on YouTube that is a song about the planets in the solar system. You discovered it today and watch it on repeat. Here it is:

When it starts again for the four hundredth time, you bounce around and literally tremble with excitement. You say things too, like, "That's the coldest planet, isn't it?" and "Earth! We can live there, can't we? Woohoo!"

We will have to try and get you on video. It is hilarious.

You know what the toys at the doctors are like...

You and mummy had to go into the doctors today because she had a midwife appointment. The surgery was full to bursting with old, piss-soaked people and skag heads after their methodone and whatever.

You were playing in the corner with all of the toys there. As your mummy relayed this story to me later, she said: "You know what the toys at the doctors are like. They are just a huge pile of shit."
Anyway, you were playing with the shape sorter whilst people watched you because they had nothing else to do. You began to struggle because the blocks you were using didn't match the shape sorter that was there - it was just a mish-mash of donated, crappy toys. What made mummy laugh and a few people look at each other, a little astonished was when you turned round to her and said:

"This pentagon doesn't fit, mummy."

You are, I remind you, inside two and a half years old at this point, so it sounds funny coming out of your mouth.

"You're cleaning poo off my knackers"

This little Noahism emerged yesterday after you had had a particularly huge and pooey poo round grandma and grandad's.

Only you pronounce it: "Natters."

Mummy and Daddy go to London!

The other day, your mummy and daddy threw a handful of your belongings into a bag and drove you over to grandma and grandad's at light speed so we could go to London. We went to watch a very talented man called Benjamin Clementine.

Here is a picture of him.

He was brilliant.

And below is some pictures of mummy and daddy on the tube. When we were on the way back to Cockfosters, after the gig, it was late. There was no one else on out carriage and no one in sight in the next two carriages. It was like we were completely alone. Then, in the middle of the underground, the train slowed to a stop.

Then the engines turned off.

Then mummy said this: "What would you do if a huge man carrying a machete came through that cabin there and started walking towards us?"

I told mummy, only half jokingly, that I would use her as a human shield and then run off into the night.

Yucky, I know

Reading words and the alphabet

Showing off, basically.

Singing the alphabet song

Easter videos

You were very lucky to have received your binoculars from the McGees just in time for finding your chocolate eggs. You are currently taking them everywhere so you can, "Make everything bigger." When you first hung them round your neck you said, "I'm like a doctor, aren't I."

Central heating

The other day, Daddy had a heated conversation with the lady at the energy company. Long story short, it turns out our monthly direct debit has to go up. To be fair, our house is always so toasty and warm it's uncomfortable. We turn up the heating and open a window. 

You are saying the funniest things

I know this is a familiar post to be blogging but you are continuing to say funnier and funnier things at the minute. It isn't going to sound particularly good by the time you come to actually read this blog, but now, whilst you are still way off two and a half, the things you say border on magical.

Such as:

(After finding your chocolate eggs this morning in the garden)
"It's a busy garden, isn't it?"

(When getting ready for bed this evening)
"I'm not going to bed, am I, mummy? I can sleep in your bed with you. You sleep there, daddy, and mummy, you sleep there."

There must have been ten different instances of you saying really funny things today but for the life of us, we can't remember them. That's called old age, Noah. That's called senile dementia.

By the time you read this, we are probably crippled by it.

Coming soon: easter videos.