This baby thing is tiring work...

There is, as is my mantra, great comfort in the routine.  Max is cruising, all the way to the 10 month mark that he will hit in a couple of days.  His and his parents' routines are working their magic and all that remains are the normal ups and downs of growth spurts, teething, colds, rashes, tummy upsets and general crankiness at not being allowed to eat the iphone.  Apple have got it so right.  Before the child can use an app or play a tune he reaches for the iphone more than any other item.  The remote controls are a close second.  Some very strange programmes turned up on the UPC recorder and the     blame lies squarely at the door of Mr. Max.

Major news items include the hard fought for fifth and sixth teeth.  Teething is an all 'round irritation.  I know because, you won't believe this, my 31st tooth is just coming down too.  I have never been happier to have bonjella on tap.  But back to Max.  A dose of bonjella and a strategically timed neurofen syringe have helped immeasurably and have meant many more sleepy nights that might have been possible otherwise.  The trick seems to be this.  Give the bonjella just as the zip of the gro-bag is closing but give the neurofen about a half an hour before so that its effects are at a maximum just as the wave of tiredness hits.  It has not been a perfect solution and several nights have been torn asunder by dental invaders.  But from what I hear from other parents, we have gotten away quite lightly.

For amusement, noises are a new hit.  The noise of the rattles falling into their receptacle; a model London Bus is a real treat that keep Max giggling at each fall and holding his breath with anticipation before each fall.  The ululating noise of a simulated sheep bah is another of his favourites.  Inexplicably it will keep him amused for several minutes.  Cow, dog or duck noises do not have the same effect.  Blowing raspberries has long been popular but now he is amusing himself with protracted horn concertos in the key of R.  Max will also now copy a noise.  He doesn't get it clear if it is a complicated sound but he does get it.  This is the first sign that I need to moderate my language as we cant have his third word causing expulsion from the creche.

Another major milestone, the proper crawl.  As reported he has been sliding along on his belly for some weeks now.  Well he is up and going on all fours now.  He still lack some strength in the curves and the right hand doesn't always know what the left hand is doing but he is crawling.  We don't care what he does now until he walks because we caught the crawl on camera so its worth has been exhausted.

Max can no longer hold the title of very advanced though.  He may reclaim it, but we had a bit of a run in with the Public Health Nurse.  Well in the first instance he failed his hearing test.  Now we all know he can hear.  But according to the HSE he is as deaf as a post.  The only noise he responded to was the crashing of the bin lid.  The real truth of course is that Max just wasn't challenged enough by the test.  He ignored all of the sounds because they were ones he was used to.  He ignored them because he knew what they were and he wasn't doing anything boring at the time.  If Max is being changed, fed or just about to be put to bed, he has the ears of a bat.  A small piece of paper gently floating to the ground is enough to cause him to swing his head and knock, milk, nappy or sleep right out of his parents' hands.  Oh he can hear, selectively.

The Nurse also told us to phase out the 11 O'Clock (PM) feed.  That's fine, but we're scared.  He sleeps really well at the moment.  The feed gets him through the night.  That feed is both tiring and saving his parents.  Tiring because we have to stay up to feed him and saving because he doesn't wake until 6.  If we drop it, will he wake.  The mecca of a sleeping baby is real currency and I'm not sure if weighing it up against his future development, whether we wouldn't just accept the fact he'll never master a foreign language and let the little man eat at 11.  Well we did weigh it up and we are weaning him off the 11 O'Clock feed, slowly.  Very slowly.

With extra movement comes baby-proofing the apartment.  Not a problem I thought.  The plugs are sealed in.  There is a plan for moving the electronics.  Some of the door locks are in place and the rest are going in next week.  Easy.  Then I tried to use the kitchen.  I had peeled many potatoes, I had peeled many carrots.  I had chopped many vegetables.  I was a commis chef par excellence.  My hands were soaking wet and full of peelings as I tried my usual trick of flicking open the bin cupboard door with my free little finger.  Clunk, nothing.  I tried again, clunck, nothing.  My Jamie Oliver entranced mind could not see beyond the next looming deadline in the recipe.  I had only seconds left to throw in some herbs.  I tried my knee, I nearly forced my whole leg through the narrow gap before I remembered the baby-proof lock.  This innocuous strip of plastic that renders any useful cupboard door, completely useless.  I had two choices, I could drop the peelings in the sink and start again or I could try to push my little finger through the gap to the lock and use my knee to push the door open.  Guess which one I tried.  Picture the drops of dirty vegetable skin water dripping to the floor, picture the little finger just not quite reaching the recessed lock, picture my knee jammed against the handle.  Picture my brow, curled up on itself in frustration.  The lock won.  I dumped the peels in the sink and opened the lock with my fully functioning and long enough index finger.  The oven and freezer locks are quite another matter and require a special knack, or phalanges that I don't posses, to open.

So we are flapping around arranging things and fixing things and all the meanwhile Max is sitting watching us.  He is happiest watching us move around and sing and dance for him.  All the while he is growing and planning, growing and planning and pulling himself up on furniture...

No longer an infant

There is a lot of loose talk about grades of babies, there is a lot of confusion over the sub genera of the young.  Let me shed some light on this somewhat befuddling topic.  A baby is a baby is a baby, there is no difficulty with that.  One is a baby until one can call others a baby.  The first stage of babyhood is just being a baby.  The creche refer to the next stage as wobblers and the following stage as toddlers.  I'm not sure about infants, some backwards educationalists refer to senior and junior infants as the first two years of national school.  But for me the word infant means helpless, floundering, lying upside down on ones back arms and legs flailing like a flipped turtle in the hot hot sun.

Under that definition Max is no longer an infant.  He is flipping, rolling, sleeping on his front and wait for it, nearly crawling.  He can move, he can do a fine wounded soldier crawl.  That's like one of those sections of a war movie when they are all in basic training and they are crawling under nets.  He is exactly like that.  He is moving forward, ever mindful of the enemy guns.  As a result of this change in definition our world has also changed.  We are now worried about cupboards, plug sockets, nails and glass that we used to leave around.  Soon we will have to move any unsafe objects 'up-high' and tie everything else down.

He is in great form.  He is following the good days and bad days map like a true adventurer.  He is currently in a good phase.  We are nervously awaiting the 4 week cloudy period.  If you don't believe me check out http://theboatrightlife.blogspot.com/2012/02/wonder-weeks.html

In this perfect scenario Max is sleeping for two sessions of two hours a day and spending the rest of the time eating and crapping and learning to crawl.  He is also smiling a lot more.  Talking a lot more and flirting a great deal more.  Let me explain.  I put him into the sling and had a walk around town.  It was sunny so I bought him a sun hat.  He refused to try on any hats but when the cute shop assistant came along it was all he could do to try on every hat in the shop.  He very nearly winked.  Then, in his hat walking down Grafton St. he started to flap his arms and shout in a very loud voice. There were two types of people on Grafton St. that day.  One type thought that I was holding him against his will and the other type thought he was adorable.  He was protected from the sun but his father may not have been protected from the crowd if it turned ugly.

In this otherwise perfect world, Max has decided that he does not like semolina.  This is a blanket dislike.  He will not have it.  He occasionally refuses other foods but he hates semolina.  Otherwise, all good.

Max has also moved into his own room.  He does not seem to mind at all.  The room is darkened in these enlightened times and so far he is sleeping very well.  We are still using a monitor so his every squawk is still audible.  The slightly worrying thing is the nappy dilemma.  If we change him at 11pm to ensure a dry morning then he can be difficult to get back to sleep.  If we don't change him he can wake early and slightly damp.  I am torn on the issue.  I like the peaceful nights but dislike the early mornings.  The other option is just not to let him drink all day and feed him the milk formula in a powdered form.  So you're up to date.....