Nagen Nagen

J knows quite a few words now, but there's one, usually repeated, that particularly puzzles us.

Me: He just did it again.
W: What?
Me: The whole 'nagen nagen' thing. I can't work it what it means.
W: He does it a lot.
Me: It sounds very Scandiwegian. I feel like there should be subtitles whenever he speaks. Maybe he's auditioning for a part in one of those bleak Danish TV series?
W: Heh. There's actually an Australian mythological creature called the Nargun.
Me: No?!
W: Yes, really.
Me: And he's half Australian... could he be channelling something?
W: I don't think so.
Me: Ah well, back to the subtitling thing then...
W: Eh?
Me: Could we get a baby translator? My Mum told me that she used to translate what I said as a baby for my grandparents. I guess only a parent really knows what their kid is saying.
W: Except in this case.
Me: Yes, we've drawn a blank on this one.

Pushing Buttons

I arrive at nursery to pick J up.

Me: How was his day?
Nursery assistant: Fine, ate all his food, but didn't have a very long sleep.
Me: That happens... And what's he been up to?
Nursery assistant: He pushed a doll around in the trolley, did some painting and climbed on some furniture.
Me: Did he now?
Nursery assistant: Yes, and laughed when we asked him to get down.
Me: Ah.
Nursery assistant: Yeah, he finds it really funny. Cheeky monkey.

Back home, I relate the story to W.

W: Well, he is doing that more and more lately. Except at home he seems to find clever ways around things. Whenever I tell him not to do something he tries a subtle variation. When I told him to sit down in the bath the other day, he slowly lowered himself just enough to touch his bottom down and then quickly stood up again. He enjoys it.
Me: I know what you mean. When I said not to pull the books off the shelf the other day he stopped, but a second later started prodding them gently. All the time watching me for my reaction.
W: He knows!
Me: Seems so.
W: It's all about experimenting with what's allowed.
Me: Even if he doesn't understand everything we say, he's modifying his behaviour because he knows something is wrong.
W: It's fascinating.
Me: We've always got to be one step ahead.
W: Sometimes three or four...

How to Scare a Baby (unintentionally)

We don't go out much, so we thought we'd treat ourselves to a car wash.

W: What are we in for?
Me: The full works - double foam wash, wheel scrub, full wax and chasis clean.
W: Pushing the boat out eh?
Me: The car gets dirty on the open road.
W: (suppressing laughter) The M3 to Basingstoke is not 'the open road'. You make it sound like Route 66.
Me: And?
W: Well, it's not is it?
Me: A guy can dream.

W manoeuvres the car into position and we watch as foam sprays the side of the car. Then it's the turn of the brushes. J, in his car seat, looks worried.

W: Don't worry. It's just a car wash. It's making everything nice and clean.

J is not convinced.

W: (nudging me) Look at this will you. Poor little man.

Me: (looking around at J) Don't worry Mister. It's OK.

J looks uncertain, apprehensive even.

W: Now I know how they make children look frightened in those disaster movies. They film them in a car wash, then green-screen it and add the appropriate background.

Spielberg's got nothing on our (inadvertent) techniques.

One Long Streak of Baby

It's been a while since I last posted and so many things have happened. One thing hasn't changed though - at the risk of getting too schmaltzy, we still marvel every day at the way J grows and develops.

Me: It is OK that we 're so rapt with everything he does?
W: Of course, he's our little man.
Me: But other parents do it too don't they?
W: Almost certainly.
Me: I mean, it's not as if I'm booking him into a top university just yet or anything...
W: He will develop as he develops.
Me: But... he's so aware of everything around him, so inquisitive...
W: He is that... but may be it's standard for most babies... he's doing very well. Our little precious...

We watch him doing something delightful for a minute or two...

Me: And look at the size of him.
W: That, I can't get my head around.
Me: How did he get so long?
W:  My 'little' baby.
Me: Not so little now...

Toast, Unexpected

Last night, at bath time, J grabbed a piece of toast I happened to be eating and started munching on it himself... in the bath. This unexpected turn of events was fascinating and very funny. Later, I duly cleaned the soggy remnants from the plughole. Earlier today...

W: He's becoming a lot less destructive, don't you think?
Me: Well, he's not flinging DVDs around, if that's what you mean?
W: Yes, he's actually becoming gentler with objects.
Me: True. But I wonder if he might be diverting his attentions to other pursuits?
W: You're talking about an 11-month-old child here.
Me: Exactly, his brain is developing in many different directions all at once. Who knows what he might be into next?

A minute later, W calls from the bathroom.

W: There's toast in the shower.
Me: Told you.
W: That doesn't mean anything. It just means that there's toast in my shower.

Later, this evening, as W is tidying toys away.

W: There's toast in the toy box.
Me: Now do you see a pattern?
W: Hmm...

Babies Everywhere

A few observations as we leave a baby clothes shop. Inside, J had been smiling at everyone with less success than usual.

Me: I suppose the problem with taking him into these shops is that there's too much competition.
W: True. In a baby shop, he's just another baby.
Me: Too much cuteness around perhaps?
W: Maybe. Though he fought his corner with the smiles.
Me: At least the shop assistant was cooing over him.
W: But there's something else that concerns me more.
Me: What's that?
W: In a shop full of so many babies, it's really hard to know if it's yours who has pooed.
Me: I hadn't thought of that.
W: You can now...
Me: What...? Oh... I see.

John Lewis changing room, here we come.

Drop Offs and Pick Ups

J has started nursery one day a week and is also doing settling-in sessions. He's not always too happy about it. I arrive at nursery to collect him and see J in floods of tears. 

Me: Hello!
Sandy (nursery assistant): It's your Daddy! 

J looks up, still sobbing and reaches out for me. 

Me: It's OK, it's OK. It's Daddy!
Sandy: He's been really good today...
Me: I was worried because he was so upset when I dropped him off this morning.
Sandy: He was, but after a bit he played with some toys, spent some time outside and was generally OK. (to J) Weren't you? 

J is a little calmer now. 

Me: I'm glad. It's difficult when the only thing you see is tears.
Sandy: He has been having a nice time. We even took a picture.
Me: You did? 

She heads into a nearby room and retrieves a polaroid.It shows J concentrating hard as he stands at a table smearing red cornflour paste everywhere. It's quite a thing to see him through another person's eyes, getting on with things in his own time, quite separate from Mummy and Daddy. 

Me: Wow, look at that.
Sandy: Yeah, he had already upended a bowl of green cornflour on the other side of the table. You can just about see it... 

She points and then proudly holds up the red top he was wearing this morning, covered in green paste. 

Sandy: I think he really enoyed himself.
Me: Looks like it.

Later, at home. 

W: Do you think they took that picture just to reassure us he's OK while he's there?
Me: It worked.
W: True. So now it's just us who have to get used to missing him. 

We're still working on that one.

He's Just a Bit Tired

J and I are at the checkout of our local supermarket where the cashier attempts to make J smile.

Cashier: Hello!.. Hello!...

A small amount of gurning later...

Cashier: He's not up for smiling today, is he?
Me: He's just a bit tired.

For reference, this is always a good stock-in-trade answer. She tries again, waving her hands. 

Cashier: Hello!... Hello!...

I attempt to help things along by coaxing his cheek. He maintains a steely gaze.

Me: Go on, give the lady a smile.
CW: Ah well. That'll be £18.24 please. 

I pay for the groceries. An old man squeezes past with his own bags.

Man: Hello little fella!

In full view of the cashier.J breaks out into the biggest grin I've seen in ages, complete with full arm and leg waving.

Man: Lovely.

Pause

Man: Do it again.

J obliges with another bout of smiling and waving.

Man: Do you know what? That has really made my day.

The man walks off smiling to himself.

Me: (moving away, not looking at the cashier) Has someone decided to wake himself up?

I find these little explanatory phrases fascinating. We're always using them to indirectly explain an action or justify a situation.

Daddy-led Weaning

Every meal time is, quite frankly, a splatterfest. It comes with the territory of baby-led weaning. You join us as W arrives home. I am on my hands and knees, wiping away a mixture of drool and toast from the highchair. Perhaps I should call it 'doast'.*

W: Did he eat much?
Me: Pretty good - three pieces of cheese on toast and at least two more have been sucked to within an inch of their lives.
W: And a few more on the floor.
Me: There were more...
W: But...
Me: I ate them.

W smiles

Me: (defensively) It was clean and... they were only there a short time - I followed the five-second rule.**
W: Heh!
Me: Well, some get thrown down before he's touched them.
W: Fair enough.
Me: And I don't eat them if they've been sucked.
W: You might do one day. Friends tell me it's a true sign of parenthood.
Me: Oh, how our standards change.
W: You'll be eating the sucked bits in no time.
Me: And then I suppose I'll only be ruling out the regurgitated bits.
W: Even then...
Me: No! No way.

You have to draw a line somewhere. 

Notes  
*Perhaps I shouldn't.
** For more on this 'rule' see the New York Times, Wikipedia and Mythbusters. Granny and Nanny should not read these links; here are some fluffy kittens instead.

Remote Tendencies

J's Auntie has come to visit. We're watching him roll and scramble across the carpet.

W: He just loves reaching for the remote controls.
Me: We keep them out of the way, but I let him hold them sometimes.
W: You do? That's probably why he likes them.
Auntie: It's because they're not toys - that's why he likes them. He sees Mummy and Daddy use them all the time.
W: When we get our new TV, we might give him the old control.
Auntie: He might not want it then...
Me: Ah yes, but we'll leave the old one with the others. That way it will maintain its allure.
Auntie: I think you'll have to pretend to use it too.
Me: What? Side by side with the new one?
Auntie: He's got to think it's still useful.
Me: Mmm, you've got a point there.
W: This could get complicated.

Onwards and Upwards

Another lift story, slightly shorter than the last one.

I'm already in the lift with J at the local department store. He is alert and looking around. A mother steps in with her little girl in a pushchair.

She looks at me and then looks down at J looking up at her. There is no preamble.

Lift Mother: He looks just like you doesn't he?

Pause

Me: Do you know that's the first thing anyone says?

The rest of the lift's rise continues in silence. The doors open. Exit me, quickly.  

It's not that I don't mind the comment, but when it's the only thing that gets said...

Elevation

J and me are waiting for a lift to take us from the platform at the local railway station. A mother approaches at speed with her little girl in her pushchair, stopping just short of us.

Speedy Mum: Wheeeee!

The little girl laughs

Me: I see you do that too.
Speedy Mum: It'a a time filler. Got to keep them amused somehow.
Me: True. 

The lift door opens 

Speedy Mum: Look Lottie, a lift. (to me) She loves lifts.
Me: He's quite partial to them too.
Speedy Mum: It's funny that, isn't it?
Me: For him it's often a double whammy. He likes the movement and, when there is one, looking in the mirror.
Speedy Mum: Great! How old is he?
Me: Seven months.
Speedy Mum: Wow!
Me: (to baby) And hello Lottie - how old are you?
Speedy Mum: Six months.
Me: Aw.

Pause as the lift doors open and we step out

Me: Just a thought, but if she likes lifts, you should try the ones at Tate Britain - they're really tall. Massive doors too. She's sure to like it.
Speedy Mum: Oh - that's a good place to go. She'll like that. Byeeee!

Lottie and her mother scoot away.

A Boy Thing?

In a project that my internal dialogue calls 'The Further Adventures of Daddy and J', I am using at least a day a week of my extended paternity leave to take J somewhere interesting. At seven months of age, he's not particularly aware of each place, but he seems to have fun and that's what counts. Our most recent trip: Tate Britain.

An older lady (OL) stops us to have a chat with J. I think it's because I put him forward facing. 

OL: Do you think it's a boy thing?
Me: Eh?
OL: What he's doing... with his feet.

I look down and witness the same view of J that I see most minutes of the day. Once again, he has pulled his socks off and is holding his feet. This is nothing new to me.

OL: My daughter, she never played with her feet, but my son wouldn't leave then alone.
Me: Her feet?

She looks puzzled (I couldn't resist taking such a golden opportunity to deliberately misunderstand)

OL: (missing my joke) No, his own feet. And now all these years later, his son does the same. I think it must be a boy thing.
Me: Oh, he's always pulling his socks off. That's what babies do, don't they? Mind you, he does pick things up with his feet.
OL: Really?
Me: He holds a toy up quite comfortably and then uses his hands to play with it.
OL: My goodness.

By her expression, this appears to be the most wondrous thing in the world. I could understand if she was still talking directly to J, but she isn't.

Me: I think his Grandad started him off doing that.
OL: Well there we are - knowledge passed on down the male line.
Me: (joking) You never know, perhaps there's a gene for it.
OL: Maybe...

We leave it at that. I think I may have inadvertently given credence to her theory.

His Casablanca

We were all out for a walk the other weekend...

W: (to J, giving a quick burst of speed to the pushchair) Brrrrrr-eep!

J smiles

W: Brrrrr-eep!

J giggles

Me: That seems to keep him happy.
W: I know. I tried it the other day and it worked.
Me: Amazing because he only tends to laugh at the same things once.
W: It's all in the sound - different every time. (to J) Brrrr-eep!

J giggles again

Me: You sound like R2-D2.
W: I guess so.
Me: (wistfully) I had a talking model when I was a kid - I really liked that. He used to beep and then play Princess Leia's message: 'Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope'.
W: Brrr-eep! (J giggles) That's my boy!

Pause

Me: Wow, I just had a thought.
W: What?
Me: Star Wars was 35 years ago, right? That's roughly equivalent to what Casablanca was to us when we were born. Released in 1942, I think.
W: That's quite a thought.
Me: Is Star Wars going to seem that old to him?
W: It might. It'll help that it's not black and white.
Me: And it might not seem as olde worlde.
W: True.
Me: Makes you think though eh?

Pause 

W: We are getting old.

Performance

All the world is a stage and we are merely players. At least, that's how it felt when I went on my first solo mission to a nearby coffee shop with J recently. 

Me: (lifting J out of his pushchair onto my lap) There you go.

A nearby pensioner couple notices us.

Old lady: Hello! How are you?
Me: I'm fine thanks. How are you?
Old lady: No, I meant him.
Me: Oh, I see....

I should get used to that. There's a pause - is she waiting for an answer?

Me: (half-pretending to be J, lifting his hand and everything) I'm fine thank you!
Old lady: Aw, he's sweet. How old is he?
Me: Nearly six months.

This script feels very familiar

Old lady: He's very active.
Me: He likes looking around. We come here a lot.
Old lady's husband: He comes to see the ladies eh?
Me: Well... I don't think...
Old lady's husband: Yes, that's what he does. 

We are rapidly going off-script.

Me: I think he just likes to look around and see what's new.
Old lady's husband: Exactly! To see the nice waitresses! 

It's funny how we attribute so many different thoughts and intentions to a little baby. More on this later.

Old MacDonald's Farm Diversification

J loves it when we sing Old MacDonald. He recognises the tune and sometimes even stops grizzling when either of us sing it. You join us mid-song after the verses on cat, dog, pig, duck, sheep, cow and chicken.

Me: ...and on that farm he had a... lion.
EE-I-EE-I-O.
With a roar roar here and a roar roar there,
here a roar, there a roar, everywhere a roar roar!
W: Old MacDonald has his own safari park by the sounds of it.
Me: You can't beat a bit of farm diversification in these straitened times.
W: You can probably get a government grant for that. What's next? A rhino?
Me: I've no idea what a rhino sounds like.
W: Neither do I.
Me: Mmm... (writer's note: you know the tune, I'm not treating you to it every time) ...and on that farm he had a golf course.
Both: EE-I-EE-I-O.
With a swing swing here and a putt putt there,
here a swing, there a putt, everywhere a hole in one... 
W: What else?
Me: Another one? Well...
...and on that farm he had a farm shop.
Both: EE-I-EE-I-O.
Me: With an organic cabbage here and an expensive jam there,
here a ker-ching!, there a ker-ching!, everywhere a ker-ching!
Old MacDonald had a farm.
Both: EE-I-EE-I-O .

The Magnificent Seven

J is getting more and more active every day, among other things.

W: He's very bouncy at the moment. He is actually trying to jump.
Me: Funny little guy. He's very climby too.
W: Bouncy and Climby and... Snotty.
Me: He is that.
W: We need more dwarf names!
Me: Spewy!
W: True. And a good attribute?
Me: Smiley!
W: Grabby too.
Me: He keeps grabbing my nose.
W: So what have we got?
Me: (listing on fingers) Bouncy, Climby, Snotty, Spewy, Smiley, Grabby and...
W: It needs to be something '-ful'.
Me: Full of beans?
W: Definitely, but not a great dwarf name.
Me: Oh! I know! I know!
W: What?
Me: Pooful.

Impasse

We're walking along a narrow section of pavement. Another couple are heading towards us with their own pushchair.

Me: (I'm pushing) Oh look, a pushchair just like ours. I'll let them go first.
W: Very nice of you.

It takes time for them to negotiate the path and we wait what seems like a minute as they approach and then pass.

Man: Thanks!
Me: No problem.

They are safe distance away.

W: That wasn't like ours...
Me: No?
W: No, ours is better.

A little healthy competition never hurt anyone.

Iron Baby

At the risk of sounding like a Fisher Price advert, we have bought a Jumperoo.

W: He needed the Jumperoo. His brain was getting ahead of his body. He was launching himself everywhere.
Me: Now he can do it safely. The nearest thing to being Robert Downey Jnr in Iron Man.
W: Eh?
Me: He now has an exoskeleton he can use to become the ultimate hero.
W: That's one way of viewing it.
Me: Well he's not going to start battling supervillains or anything...
W: I just like the way he bounces and plays and then looks up and smiles brightly as if to say 'Did you see what I just did?'
Me: It is very cute.
W: Very very cute.

The Days of Bears and Puppies

As J is asleep in his cot, we take the opportunity to sort some of his clothes.

W: He's grown out of so many things...
Me: We only bought him that shirt at Christmas and already it's too small.
W: Like everything, it's OK width-wise. It's the length that suffers.
Me: It all looks too short now. No wonder he's already on to the 6 to 9 month clothing.
W: And beyond.

Pause as W holds up one of his smaller babygrows

W: Aw! It's the end of bears and puppies...
Me: Goodbye puppies!
W: Farewell to the zebras.
Me: The zebras have left the building...

Pause

Me: What shall we do with them?
W: (opening the bottom draw) We'll keep them here, just for a bit. You know?
Me: Yeah, good plan. Maybe someone else will want them.

The Appearance of Reading

We're in a local coffee shop.

W: It's only a matter of time before he locks eyes with a middle-aged lady.
Me: He's good at that?
W: Oh yes, and then they come over and ask his name and how old he is.
Me: Very sweet.
W: I don't know how he does it.

J stares, meercat-like, around the shop. I see what W means.

W: Only a matter of time...

I unfold a section of the newspaper, J turns his attention to it and holds one edge, appearing to peruse the print. Nearby, I notice an older couple watching us.

Woman: He looks like he's reading. (her husband smiles)
Me: He does that a lot at home with his story books.
Woman: How old is he?
Me: Four months.
Woman: He looks very alert. (she smiles)

J does it again, another granny is hooked. Reading is a few years away, but the appearance of reading, it seems, may have already been mastered.

The Pirate Alphabet

An example of mummy and daddy humour as we're putting him to bed...

W: It's funny how he sometimes sleeps with one eye partly open.
Me: I swear he can see us.
W: Our little pirate.
Me: If he becomes a modern pirate, he might end up hijacking yachts and kidnapping rich older couples.
W: That's true. Where would we put them up?
Me: No one ever pays the ransom. We'd have to build a granny annexe.
W: (to baby) Let's draw a line at kidnapping eh?
Me: And hijacking.
W: That too.
Me: Stick to the nicer bits of pirating eh? Travelling and singing.

Clears throat and sings

Oh! The pirate alphabet is very very short,
N, O, P, Q, Arrr!

And the pirates sail in a great big boat, on the
Y, Z, A, B, Sea!

Like it?
W: Love it!

Little J smiles too.

Parenthood in a Nutshell

We're sitting on the sofa. I'm holding J.

Me: (to W, sitting nearby) Where's the muslin? He's drooling again.
W: Got to get used to that.
Me: I am actually. (wiping it away, then looking down) Oh, he's been sick on my hand. How long's that been there? When did that happen?
W: I think that's the definition of parenthood right there.
Me: Did we just stop noticing?
W: It's not that. It's just that we take it all in our stride now.

I'm sure there are plenty more things to get used to.

Jiffles and Sniffles

The new year has brought a new bed, and a cold, for little J. You join us as we've just put him down for his first night in the cot.

Me: All that space around him.
W: He needed it. He was waking himself up in the Moses basket every time he moved his arms.
Me: We always think he's getting big, but the cot makes him look so small.
W: I know!
Me: Plenty of space to jiffle* if he wants to.
W: I'm sure he will - I wonder where he gets it from?
Me: (innocently) No idea.

Pause

W: And poor little man has a cold too. He's all snotty.
Me: So we're going to get woken up later?
W: Probably.
Me: Best get to bed then.

In the event, he took to his new bed extremely well. It was the next few nights that the sniffles really took their toll.

Note
* to jiffle or jiffling accurately describes a case of the fidgets. It's a word from my childhood, which I'll pass onto little J.