Finding ones feet is quite the achievement! Max has managed to fold in half and Grab hold of his toes. If he has socks on at the time, they don't stay on for long. If he is in his gro-bag then the whole bag is grabbed. It's fun to watch. He can really only use his left arm properly. His right arm doesn't seem to reach as far. This could mean that a future of left arm dominance lies ahead for our Max and that a future of smudged writing is also his lot.
The added benefit of the feet finding is the potential for rolling. It is the next natural step. He folds up and rolls over. Now all his has to do is learn how to control this movement and reverse it and we are in real trouble. No longer can he be left for a moment on the changing table, no longer for a second on the bed. I'm going to have to up my organisational game to ensure there is no going back for things. Another developmental step is Max no longer bouncing as well as he used to when he falls.
Teething has begun. There are no red cheeks and dodgy nappies but there is loads of drool and a huge amount of gnawing. Our fingers are kept very clean attempt moment as they are his favourite chew sticks. We have Sofi the Giraffe, a teething ring and several other toys that have plastic bits for exactly this purpose, but no, Max prefers the finger. We tried Bonjella for the first time today and that seemed to work. We are waiting for a repeat to prove its effectiveness, it could have been a fluke.
I have also noticed a similarity between iPhones and babies. They know instinctively which way up they are. Max can be fast asleep on my shoulder and when I put him down it takes two seconds for the internal gyroscope to kick in and he curls his bottom lip and wails. This could be gastric reflux, coldness or just a reluctance to be separated from his parents or grand parents. Whatever the case, it's both amazing and infuriating!
We also invested the little guy into the Roman Catholic church. It was a lovely ceremony with the usual components and some readings that Ciara selected. There are some obvious questions about baptism and whether it's the right thing to do and whether we should support the church with all that went on etc. here is my take on all of that. The church has a very good central message. Be nice to one another and try and do the right thing. This is something that I can sing up to and would like my son to too. There are also many many more fantastic men and women in the church than there are bad ones. Fair enough, the institution handled things really badly but that's no reason to desert it utterly. We shall try and fix from within. well when I say within, I mean near the door, sort of in the porch. I'm not beating a path to the church door every Sunday morning, but then I do manage a prayer or two from Christmas to Christmas.
Max is nearly four months old. As far as I can figure the only important milestone this month is being able to take Bonjella and not a moment too soon!
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
A big day out
Max's Mum is wonderful, lets be clear about this. Though I blog
about my interactions with Max she looks after his upbringing,
education, nutrition and emotional security on a height that I can only
view from the metaphorical foothills. For those reasons (and because I
went to a big party on Friday night) I took Max yesterday. It went a
bit like this.
We dropped Ciara off at the massage parlour (it is actually a massage parlour, not anything else) at about 9am. Then we drove to the school and I took some photos of the tiny students playing rugby against Willow Park. I planned a cunning walk down the drive and circled around past Spar where I picked up the best coffee in Dublin. I know that there are other pretenders to this throne, but the little coffee machine in the Spar in Rathmines is a blessed fountain of sweet ambrosia.
Then back to the car and off to Mini Music. Mini Music is held in one of the many rooms above the main hall in the National Concert Hall. A wonderful and long suffering lady named Rebecca leads a bunch of 4-12 month olds through a bunch of sweet little songs, while their parents look on. At the beginning I was very skeptical about this class. What could Max possibly get from a bunch of songs, he can't sing, he can't dance, all he does when he hears music is drool and twitch. But I was wrong - he loves it. He doesn't take his eyes off Rebecca from the beginning of the class to the end. He follows her every move. He smiles when he is supposed to smile, he rocks backwards and forwards when he is supposed to and he comes out full of smiles and excitement. When we sing the songs to him during the week, his face lights up! So kids love Mini Music, even 15 week old kids.
We dashed from Mini Music much to the disappointment of the other parents who love to make a whole social event of the the affair. The students were in Rathmines right on time and they started to collect for the Irish Autism Society. They were selling bands for €1 and roses for €2. They were wearing their full uniforms and the little old ladies of Rathmines bought roses, left, right and center. I helped by marshaling the troops and by alternating feeding and walking Max. Max took to this strange change in his schedule with ease. He smiled at all the collectors, he grinned at the old ladies and he took the bottle first time, both times. First it was breast milk and the second was formula. The staff and customers in the Kylemore Cafe were simply lovely. They took pity on an overwhelmed father and they carried my tray and got me milk and warmed a bottle. I had a coffee and a sugary bun, that had enough glucose to kill a weaker man.
Max drank, ate, burped and smiled away the afternoon. He talked and he gurgled at everything that went on and made his father's life very easy. The students came and went on the hour and at 3pm we finished up. Max even waited while his dad had a sandwich and a can of coke, though he seemed quite concerned that I didn't need to burp afterwards.
I thought that my working day was hard. I thought that looking after students was tiring. Dear Lord, I was wrong. The energy of watching each twitch and move of Max, the nervous observation of his every breath is exhausting. So the evening went by with my new admiration for Ciara and all of her day to day care for Max. We had a big day out and I look forward to many more. But here is a quick personal memo. Never have a big day out after a big night out. I need another two or three weekends to recover.
We dropped Ciara off at the massage parlour (it is actually a massage parlour, not anything else) at about 9am. Then we drove to the school and I took some photos of the tiny students playing rugby against Willow Park. I planned a cunning walk down the drive and circled around past Spar where I picked up the best coffee in Dublin. I know that there are other pretenders to this throne, but the little coffee machine in the Spar in Rathmines is a blessed fountain of sweet ambrosia.
Then back to the car and off to Mini Music. Mini Music is held in one of the many rooms above the main hall in the National Concert Hall. A wonderful and long suffering lady named Rebecca leads a bunch of 4-12 month olds through a bunch of sweet little songs, while their parents look on. At the beginning I was very skeptical about this class. What could Max possibly get from a bunch of songs, he can't sing, he can't dance, all he does when he hears music is drool and twitch. But I was wrong - he loves it. He doesn't take his eyes off Rebecca from the beginning of the class to the end. He follows her every move. He smiles when he is supposed to smile, he rocks backwards and forwards when he is supposed to and he comes out full of smiles and excitement. When we sing the songs to him during the week, his face lights up! So kids love Mini Music, even 15 week old kids.
We dashed from Mini Music much to the disappointment of the other parents who love to make a whole social event of the the affair. The students were in Rathmines right on time and they started to collect for the Irish Autism Society. They were selling bands for €1 and roses for €2. They were wearing their full uniforms and the little old ladies of Rathmines bought roses, left, right and center. I helped by marshaling the troops and by alternating feeding and walking Max. Max took to this strange change in his schedule with ease. He smiled at all the collectors, he grinned at the old ladies and he took the bottle first time, both times. First it was breast milk and the second was formula. The staff and customers in the Kylemore Cafe were simply lovely. They took pity on an overwhelmed father and they carried my tray and got me milk and warmed a bottle. I had a coffee and a sugary bun, that had enough glucose to kill a weaker man.
Max drank, ate, burped and smiled away the afternoon. He talked and he gurgled at everything that went on and made his father's life very easy. The students came and went on the hour and at 3pm we finished up. Max even waited while his dad had a sandwich and a can of coke, though he seemed quite concerned that I didn't need to burp afterwards.
I thought that my working day was hard. I thought that looking after students was tiring. Dear Lord, I was wrong. The energy of watching each twitch and move of Max, the nervous observation of his every breath is exhausting. So the evening went by with my new admiration for Ciara and all of her day to day care for Max. We had a big day out and I look forward to many more. But here is a quick personal memo. Never have a big day out after a big night out. I need another two or three weekends to recover.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Three things that I find remarkable
Max is developing at a rate of fifty new things a second. He is gaining new skills and moves and noises and facial expressions. It is all going at about 400 kph.
I choose these three to titillate you with. Titillate literally as the first concerns the breast. This will require a little background for the non lactating reader. The milk, once the latch has all been sorted out comes naturally. But to make things more difficult, there are two types of milk. The fore milk and the hind milk. The fore milk is kind of an amuse bouche, a taste of things to come, a small sample of what the chef is capable of given the right restaurant and a bucket of cash. The fore milk is tasty and nice, but that is about it. The hind milk is your bowl of spuds with a load of butter on top. It is yorkshire puddings and lashings of gravy. The hind milk develops as the baby sucks and he loves the hind milk. The hind milk release can be stimulated and encouraged by pressing the breast. Max is wise to this game. While breastfeeding he now bashes the breast to make the hind milk come faster. The comedy of this is his lack of coordination and the less than delicate slaps that he gives the breast. When he settles down he just places his little fist high up on the breast and clenches and unclenches his fist. The true hilarity and rolling around on the floor laughing, as it goes, is when he does it to me when he is bottle feeding. I know I am a little overweight but moobs, really?
The second thing to talk about is his words. He can now squeal with delight (major developmental goal - tick) he can say g, o, a, w, h, and now n. He is about a quarter the way through the alphabet. He is very good at turn taking during conversation and he really tries to copy what you say. His Nana and Nanny (either sides of the family, very different to avoid confusion) have great success with getting Max to talk. They click, coo and warble and screech like mad women and he warbles, screeches and coos right back at them. He cant click yet, but it is only a matter of time. He will talk when there are no other pressures on him. When the nappy is empty, the belly full and the mind rested he will be a little chatty man but once the delicate three way balance is upset, it is only whining and then wailing. That's ok though because getting him talking again is a perfect way of stopping the crying. I still try and talk to him in adult language, the EU's English as it were, but the odd wooo and brpppp and woogie woo gets a much bigger and better response.
The final aspect of this evenings blog is "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles". This is a perfect example of Pavlovian science. Ciara worked hard at getting Max to hold his head up while being picked up. Each time she would hold his hands and lift him and cry "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles". He would be told he was a good boy if his head was held straight. Now the child gets twitchy if he hears the number 1. He is tense as a board if he hears the number 2 next and if you get to 3 his back arches and if you are holding his hands he will bear weight on his legs and with your support stand straight up. Try it. It works.
I'm thinking that if he can be trained to do this so quickly, if he can understand this system of complex noises so quickly what else should we teach him. Well the first thing is going to be his name. Oh yes he responds to "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles" but does he turn his head when you call his name. No way. He continues doing what he is doing happily oblivious. Maybe we should have called him "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles" and that would have made life much easier. I hope that he shakes this training off because if his first teacher says 1-2-3 he is going to stand bolt upright and be the laughing stock of the class! I'm sure he'll know what to do, he is very advanced after all.
I choose these three to titillate you with. Titillate literally as the first concerns the breast. This will require a little background for the non lactating reader. The milk, once the latch has all been sorted out comes naturally. But to make things more difficult, there are two types of milk. The fore milk and the hind milk. The fore milk is kind of an amuse bouche, a taste of things to come, a small sample of what the chef is capable of given the right restaurant and a bucket of cash. The fore milk is tasty and nice, but that is about it. The hind milk is your bowl of spuds with a load of butter on top. It is yorkshire puddings and lashings of gravy. The hind milk develops as the baby sucks and he loves the hind milk. The hind milk release can be stimulated and encouraged by pressing the breast. Max is wise to this game. While breastfeeding he now bashes the breast to make the hind milk come faster. The comedy of this is his lack of coordination and the less than delicate slaps that he gives the breast. When he settles down he just places his little fist high up on the breast and clenches and unclenches his fist. The true hilarity and rolling around on the floor laughing, as it goes, is when he does it to me when he is bottle feeding. I know I am a little overweight but moobs, really?
The second thing to talk about is his words. He can now squeal with delight (major developmental goal - tick) he can say g, o, a, w, h, and now n. He is about a quarter the way through the alphabet. He is very good at turn taking during conversation and he really tries to copy what you say. His Nana and Nanny (either sides of the family, very different to avoid confusion) have great success with getting Max to talk. They click, coo and warble and screech like mad women and he warbles, screeches and coos right back at them. He cant click yet, but it is only a matter of time. He will talk when there are no other pressures on him. When the nappy is empty, the belly full and the mind rested he will be a little chatty man but once the delicate three way balance is upset, it is only whining and then wailing. That's ok though because getting him talking again is a perfect way of stopping the crying. I still try and talk to him in adult language, the EU's English as it were, but the odd wooo and brpppp and woogie woo gets a much bigger and better response.
The final aspect of this evenings blog is "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles". This is a perfect example of Pavlovian science. Ciara worked hard at getting Max to hold his head up while being picked up. Each time she would hold his hands and lift him and cry "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles". He would be told he was a good boy if his head was held straight. Now the child gets twitchy if he hears the number 1. He is tense as a board if he hears the number 2 next and if you get to 3 his back arches and if you are holding his hands he will bear weight on his legs and with your support stand straight up. Try it. It works.
I'm thinking that if he can be trained to do this so quickly, if he can understand this system of complex noises so quickly what else should we teach him. Well the first thing is going to be his name. Oh yes he responds to "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles" but does he turn his head when you call his name. No way. He continues doing what he is doing happily oblivious. Maybe we should have called him "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles" and that would have made life much easier. I hope that he shakes this training off because if his first teacher says 1-2-3 he is going to stand bolt upright and be the laughing stock of the class! I'm sure he'll know what to do, he is very advanced after all.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
A personality emergent
So it turns out that as a baby grows, gets older and all of his relatives tell us that he is getting bigger by the minute, he is also growing a personality.
His behaviour before has had an edge to it, a pattern, a focus so we thought that was it. But now he is really working that smile, really frowning and really talking. So the sounds are gibberish but the delight that he has at being listened to is infectious! He will say something, we will respond and he will say something longer and louder. We respond again that bit louder and the crescendo builds up until he is squealing with delight!
I think it is the success of the character Stewie in Family Guy that his words are heard and responded to but clearly not understood. That's what it must be like for Max. Maybe he is saying things like. I love you guys and I like it here but that teddy bear is giving me nightmares, if you could get rid of that I'd be thrilled. Or perhaps it's as simple as when you put on my nappy you are making it just a shade tight. If you could loosen it a bit I'd be much happier.
We are trained by this experience that nothing will ever be done by people about the hundreds of minor irritations that plague us as adults. Oh yes, they will smile, nod and even respond but they will do nothing.
Max the chatty man. I just hope he is saying nice happy things. I think that he is probably just saying feelings. I'm comfortable, I like that face, that noise, no not that one, the last one, do that again. I am warm and happy. I am getting hungry, I am wet, why?
But it's the cheeky grin that gives the personality away. That grin could win over even the most cold hearted stone of a man. His parents are soppy sentimentalists so unless we play it carefully he will run rings around us!
On a more practical note: the routine is going well but it needs a tweak with an eleven o'clock feed. He is nearly into the 3-6 month old clothes right on schedule and all goes well in the outgoing department!
A quiet week of watching a little man come out from the body of a baby.
His behaviour before has had an edge to it, a pattern, a focus so we thought that was it. But now he is really working that smile, really frowning and really talking. So the sounds are gibberish but the delight that he has at being listened to is infectious! He will say something, we will respond and he will say something longer and louder. We respond again that bit louder and the crescendo builds up until he is squealing with delight!
I think it is the success of the character Stewie in Family Guy that his words are heard and responded to but clearly not understood. That's what it must be like for Max. Maybe he is saying things like. I love you guys and I like it here but that teddy bear is giving me nightmares, if you could get rid of that I'd be thrilled. Or perhaps it's as simple as when you put on my nappy you are making it just a shade tight. If you could loosen it a bit I'd be much happier.
We are trained by this experience that nothing will ever be done by people about the hundreds of minor irritations that plague us as adults. Oh yes, they will smile, nod and even respond but they will do nothing.
Max the chatty man. I just hope he is saying nice happy things. I think that he is probably just saying feelings. I'm comfortable, I like that face, that noise, no not that one, the last one, do that again. I am warm and happy. I am getting hungry, I am wet, why?
But it's the cheeky grin that gives the personality away. That grin could win over even the most cold hearted stone of a man. His parents are soppy sentimentalists so unless we play it carefully he will run rings around us!
On a more practical note: the routine is going well but it needs a tweak with an eleven o'clock feed. He is nearly into the 3-6 month old clothes right on schedule and all goes well in the outgoing department!
A quiet week of watching a little man come out from the body of a baby.
Monday, September 26, 2011
My liquid son
In Star Trek - The Next generation a Klingon refers to humans as 'ugly bags of mostly water'. Now anyone who describes Max as ugly will be on the harsh end of a Klingon pain stick but the bag of mostly water bit. That bit I get.
I didn't really understand it until I accidentally shook him. Now I'm not talking about a violent shake, I was just going a little fast in the feeding chair and it was like a slow shake. I heard a gloop, a very distinct gloop. The same type of gloop that you would get if you tilted a half-full bottle backwards and forwards on its side; gloop, gloop.
This was added to the other Sci-Fi reference which is equally alien. In fact it is exactly Alien. A newly born Alien in the Sigourney Weaver series pours water from its mouth almost constantly. This is often the harbinger of the vicious large critters and it puts me in mind of Max's constant stream of drool.
When these two fantastical references are put together with his constant peeing (my shorts are the most recent casualty) and his splish splasing aroung in the local pool, the real meets the fantasy and I am sure that my son is a big slooshy gloopy bag of mostly water. That does not in any way take from his wonderfulness and beauty!
What it does do is make fast movers out of his mother and father. We run for the nappy, we run for the muslin to soak up the drool, we run for the muslin to soak up the vomit and we run to replace everything that he pees over. Water is key and without it we would all be prunes. I have tried to imagine us all as prunes and its not pretty.
Along with this dependence on water comes the sounds. Not just the gloop, the cornucopia of other liquid noises. For the want of a Taxonomy I will start at the head.
When he feeds he makes a very vampiric sucking noise, accompanied by a sort of liquid snort that sounds like a sucked straw at the end of a Macdonald's soft drink. His throat then makes the funniest sound when there is stuff going in or coming out. It's like a little gargle. It's like a little gargle except that that it goes on for quite some time.
Further down into his chest there are the swallowing noises that are a bit like a central heating system with loads of air in it. There is a rattle here and a drip drip there and then the whole system explodes in a fit of hic-coughs.
Even further down are the farts. They are very funny indeed and the stuff of many a low budget English sit-com. They are even funnier when caused by a sneeze or a cough. They have a distinctly watery side to them but I cannot describe them any further as readers are fed up of me talking about Max's rear end!
The only part of Max that has nothing to do with water are his legs. They are solid as a rock. He can't stand on them yet but he can bear his own weight and he kicks like a mule. He has also taken to smacking them down, sometimes to his own surprise.
On the news front, he has some new noises, 'nga nga' and the arrival of the 'g' is good as soon behind it will follow the 'd' and then it's a short hop to da-da! He also grasped a rattle. He shook it, it made a noise and he reacted and then he smacked himself in the head with it. He's a very advanced bag of mostly water.
I didn't really understand it until I accidentally shook him. Now I'm not talking about a violent shake, I was just going a little fast in the feeding chair and it was like a slow shake. I heard a gloop, a very distinct gloop. The same type of gloop that you would get if you tilted a half-full bottle backwards and forwards on its side; gloop, gloop.
This was added to the other Sci-Fi reference which is equally alien. In fact it is exactly Alien. A newly born Alien in the Sigourney Weaver series pours water from its mouth almost constantly. This is often the harbinger of the vicious large critters and it puts me in mind of Max's constant stream of drool.
When these two fantastical references are put together with his constant peeing (my shorts are the most recent casualty) and his splish splasing aroung in the local pool, the real meets the fantasy and I am sure that my son is a big slooshy gloopy bag of mostly water. That does not in any way take from his wonderfulness and beauty!
What it does do is make fast movers out of his mother and father. We run for the nappy, we run for the muslin to soak up the drool, we run for the muslin to soak up the vomit and we run to replace everything that he pees over. Water is key and without it we would all be prunes. I have tried to imagine us all as prunes and its not pretty.
Along with this dependence on water comes the sounds. Not just the gloop, the cornucopia of other liquid noises. For the want of a Taxonomy I will start at the head.
When he feeds he makes a very vampiric sucking noise, accompanied by a sort of liquid snort that sounds like a sucked straw at the end of a Macdonald's soft drink. His throat then makes the funniest sound when there is stuff going in or coming out. It's like a little gargle. It's like a little gargle except that that it goes on for quite some time.
Further down into his chest there are the swallowing noises that are a bit like a central heating system with loads of air in it. There is a rattle here and a drip drip there and then the whole system explodes in a fit of hic-coughs.
Even further down are the farts. They are very funny indeed and the stuff of many a low budget English sit-com. They are even funnier when caused by a sneeze or a cough. They have a distinctly watery side to them but I cannot describe them any further as readers are fed up of me talking about Max's rear end!
The only part of Max that has nothing to do with water are his legs. They are solid as a rock. He can't stand on them yet but he can bear his own weight and he kicks like a mule. He has also taken to smacking them down, sometimes to his own surprise.
On the news front, he has some new noises, 'nga nga' and the arrival of the 'g' is good as soon behind it will follow the 'd' and then it's a short hop to da-da! He also grasped a rattle. He shook it, it made a noise and he reacted and then he smacked himself in the head with it. He's a very advanced bag of mostly water.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
The Routine!
Max has a routine, this has taken some great work on the part of his wonderful Mum to organise. Meanwhile I have been busy with the odd bit of teaching here and there. I play a part in the routine but its genesis and keystone is the morning.
At about 7am the little fellow wakes. He doesn't enjoy this. He wakes up hungry. He wakes up angry. Do we sort out his hunger, do we heck. We change his nappy first. This is my job. I have previously blogged about nappies. They are boring boring boring now (except for when they are not - about once every two or three days). So his boring nappy changed he goes back for his first feed of the day. This is Ciara's job, she does it really well.
Having prepared everything for my day I return at about 7:30 just in time to burp him and say good bye. This is very hard.
He then plays for a bit (maybe has a mid-morning snack) and goes back to sleep. An hour and a bit later he is ready for food and action and there is plenty of action. He gets dressed up into his day gear. On one day he is swimming, another at baby yoga. Suffice it to say that his future development is safeguarded by a schedule of activities that stimulates body and mind. After these activities and another snack it is lunch time.
He then has some more play and mat time (that's play on his mat with the bee and the mirror). He does have an afternoon nap but its time is a bit variable. In fact the middle of the day is a big variable. This suits me fine. I am at work, no worries. For Ciara it can be a bit of a roller coaster. Most days work out fine but some days when I get home, young Max is thrust into my hands and - tag I'm it!
So as the afternoon drifts away like one of Max's particularly virulent farts, the routine begins to reestablish itself. At around 7pm, it's bath time! This is a wonderland of emotion and wriggling and splashing and suds. Sometimes both of us are involved and sometimes just one of us. A clean Max is brought to the bed, redressed into night gear and read a lovely story. There will be many posts about childrens' literature in the future but for now lets assume that the story is lovely and that Max is very relaxed and ready for a feed and bed. He then gets his bottle, up to 220mls and theoretically falls into a stupor until 7am again. Meanwhile we fit in the evening dinner and small amount of relaxation time around this. Like water pouring into a bucket of stones. In fact that's how we work with the routine, we dance around it like particles flung around in Brownian motion.
It's an imperfect system because it is so variable in the middle. You can't set your watch by him but you can at least have a good crack at figuring out day from night. He is much happier with the routine. When we don't follow it, he is upset. He is much more difficult to settle and our lives are full of misery. So we follow the routine, and woe betide anyone who gets in the way. They have to get him asleep while his parents rest - be warned!
At about 7am the little fellow wakes. He doesn't enjoy this. He wakes up hungry. He wakes up angry. Do we sort out his hunger, do we heck. We change his nappy first. This is my job. I have previously blogged about nappies. They are boring boring boring now (except for when they are not - about once every two or three days). So his boring nappy changed he goes back for his first feed of the day. This is Ciara's job, she does it really well.
Having prepared everything for my day I return at about 7:30 just in time to burp him and say good bye. This is very hard.
He then plays for a bit (maybe has a mid-morning snack) and goes back to sleep. An hour and a bit later he is ready for food and action and there is plenty of action. He gets dressed up into his day gear. On one day he is swimming, another at baby yoga. Suffice it to say that his future development is safeguarded by a schedule of activities that stimulates body and mind. After these activities and another snack it is lunch time.
He then has some more play and mat time (that's play on his mat with the bee and the mirror). He does have an afternoon nap but its time is a bit variable. In fact the middle of the day is a big variable. This suits me fine. I am at work, no worries. For Ciara it can be a bit of a roller coaster. Most days work out fine but some days when I get home, young Max is thrust into my hands and - tag I'm it!
So as the afternoon drifts away like one of Max's particularly virulent farts, the routine begins to reestablish itself. At around 7pm, it's bath time! This is a wonderland of emotion and wriggling and splashing and suds. Sometimes both of us are involved and sometimes just one of us. A clean Max is brought to the bed, redressed into night gear and read a lovely story. There will be many posts about childrens' literature in the future but for now lets assume that the story is lovely and that Max is very relaxed and ready for a feed and bed. He then gets his bottle, up to 220mls and theoretically falls into a stupor until 7am again. Meanwhile we fit in the evening dinner and small amount of relaxation time around this. Like water pouring into a bucket of stones. In fact that's how we work with the routine, we dance around it like particles flung around in Brownian motion.
It's an imperfect system because it is so variable in the middle. You can't set your watch by him but you can at least have a good crack at figuring out day from night. He is much happier with the routine. When we don't follow it, he is upset. He is much more difficult to settle and our lives are full of misery. So we follow the routine, and woe betide anyone who gets in the way. They have to get him asleep while his parents rest - be warned!
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Rubbing his hands with glee
My last post was very indulgent and soppy, some readers have admitted to tears and other to gastric distress. So this time I have decided to report only the facts without comment. This way I am assured that the tone will be appropriate to all readers no matter what their disposition and digestive health.
Max will be 11 weeks old tomorrow. His age wears heavily upon him. He stares inscrutably at almost everything and wrings his hands constantly. The black and white mobile provides him with hours of quiet reflection. The play mat is far too much for his fragile state and drives him into convulsions of sensory overload.
The small bee (that he has been fixated on) has been replaced in his affections by his own reflection. This I see, not as a narcissistic development but one of severe self reflection. Such self examination is a clear sign of a deep intelligence, he must be very advanced.
The only thing I can't get past is the drool. He drools constantly. This I am told is a sure sign of teething, but it is also a sure sign of rabies. I am pretty sure that Max does not have rabies, for he shows no signs of madness or writhing above that level that is normal for a child his age. But the frothing and drooling is a bit discomforting.
He has graduated to the larger bottle. Combine this with the cot, the clothes and the inscrutability and you have the measure of a man. To see all of this in an eleven week old is surely presumptuous and pompous, but I beg your indulgence.
The larger bottle is big enough for an adult drink (that is not one that contains material unsuitable - just large), it is only just short of the 500mls that approximates a pint. No one should ever drink a pint in the one go. That is far too much liquid for any one throat. In fact Max found it so this evening and the slower teat had to be brought to bear. He took this without complaint on the first go and so broke all of the rules. I was waiting for the merry dance but he just wolfed it all down, about 180mls.
On a more serious note, the bumper is gone from the cot side. This is a bit of a tale but its worth telling. The books (the infamous books) and the websites (fonts of all knowledge) say that bumpers around cots are not a good idea as they have been linked to incidence of SIDS. That is fine in theory but when your son is whacking his head around in his sleep you think that a bumper is necessary so you tie it up according to the manufacturers instructions. Then a good friend passes on a bit of research and info and it is very clear that an odd knock of the head is the least of our worries. Two quick links followed and the bumper is gone. All of this, all of this, and the little fellow has not put his head near the edge and shows no signs of doing so. Thank you friend.
So what else to report on this Saturday evening. He still retains his youth, beauty and loveliness, he still steals the hearts of all who sees him, but now there is a wryness. There is a little curl to the edge of his lips. There is a wring to the holding of his hands. There is a glint in his eye. There would be a jaunt in his step, if he could walk. There is at the very least a swagger in his kicks. Max is growing up and developing a personality. Look out world.
Max will be 11 weeks old tomorrow. His age wears heavily upon him. He stares inscrutably at almost everything and wrings his hands constantly. The black and white mobile provides him with hours of quiet reflection. The play mat is far too much for his fragile state and drives him into convulsions of sensory overload.
The small bee (that he has been fixated on) has been replaced in his affections by his own reflection. This I see, not as a narcissistic development but one of severe self reflection. Such self examination is a clear sign of a deep intelligence, he must be very advanced.
The only thing I can't get past is the drool. He drools constantly. This I am told is a sure sign of teething, but it is also a sure sign of rabies. I am pretty sure that Max does not have rabies, for he shows no signs of madness or writhing above that level that is normal for a child his age. But the frothing and drooling is a bit discomforting.
He has graduated to the larger bottle. Combine this with the cot, the clothes and the inscrutability and you have the measure of a man. To see all of this in an eleven week old is surely presumptuous and pompous, but I beg your indulgence.
The larger bottle is big enough for an adult drink (that is not one that contains material unsuitable - just large), it is only just short of the 500mls that approximates a pint. No one should ever drink a pint in the one go. That is far too much liquid for any one throat. In fact Max found it so this evening and the slower teat had to be brought to bear. He took this without complaint on the first go and so broke all of the rules. I was waiting for the merry dance but he just wolfed it all down, about 180mls.
On a more serious note, the bumper is gone from the cot side. This is a bit of a tale but its worth telling. The books (the infamous books) and the websites (fonts of all knowledge) say that bumpers around cots are not a good idea as they have been linked to incidence of SIDS. That is fine in theory but when your son is whacking his head around in his sleep you think that a bumper is necessary so you tie it up according to the manufacturers instructions. Then a good friend passes on a bit of research and info and it is very clear that an odd knock of the head is the least of our worries. Two quick links followed and the bumper is gone. All of this, all of this, and the little fellow has not put his head near the edge and shows no signs of doing so. Thank you friend.
So what else to report on this Saturday evening. He still retains his youth, beauty and loveliness, he still steals the hearts of all who sees him, but now there is a wryness. There is a little curl to the edge of his lips. There is a wring to the holding of his hands. There is a glint in his eye. There would be a jaunt in his step, if he could walk. There is at the very least a swagger in his kicks. Max is growing up and developing a personality. Look out world.
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