situation vacant

I've just been informed by my errant scribe that he's buggering off to Pella next week for a couple of months, so I'm going to have to advertise for a temp to keep the blog going in his absence. Mum says she's too busy wiping bottoms.
It also came to my attention yesterday that the Italian in the version of Nonna's song which Dad sings isn't quite spot on - he's be warbling something about hitting lemons (Batty lemoni), whereas it's actually 'Batte gli mani' or clap your hands. Anyway, just a couple of gripes - you can't get the staff these days.
Xmas was quite good - got some tasty wrapping paper, and my friend Gerry the Giraffe has moved in. He enjoys a good wrestle, and puts up more resistance than the Aussie top-order batsmen, so he keeps me amused. Have a great New Year - I'm aiming to see it in with a milky bevvy around midnight myself.

beardie-weirdies

Thanks to Piet for the suggestion - I now feel more reassured that I won't look like Dad when I grow up.

and a couple of yon parental unit

Photos courtesy of Tobias Titz, the award winning photographer, and Dogsbrekki striker:
http://www.tobiastitz.de/welcome.php

the many faces of Finn

chip off the old blok

I was flicking through some old photos when Dad was in the shower earlier and came across one from when he was a bub. It's a bit scary...

You've gotta wonder

Dad took me out for a spin yesterday arvo, as a thunderstorm gathered. Mum was fairly skeptical about our chances of getting back unwashed, but a quick turn of pace down Ruckers Hill meant we got home with only one drop on the basinette - bonza.
Later, Dad commented on my persistent efforts to shed excess clothing (Mum continually puts blankets back on top of me when I kick them off, saying I'll get cold!). He reckons I'm training to be a stripper, to which Mum quipped "Like one of those Chipmunks". I've tried Googling Chipmunk Strippers but just get pictures of furry rodents with big teeth... I'm confused.

tinnie

Had my 1st tinnie last night - can't say I was hugely impressed. Dad gets green fizzy tinnies, whereas mine's called SA-26 or somit; no bubbles and strangely milky in colour... hmm. Tasted like rat's piss, but after half an hour of protestations I decided I was too hungry not to drink it. Normal service has resumed today, thankfully.
Mum slept in this morning (I did warn her it was time to wake around 6am, but she dozed off again after a feed...) so we were late for kids' group. No harm done - none of the gurls turned up, although I did get into a face-off with Maxwell (honestly, imagine calling yer kid after coffee?). He blinked and then I fell asleep.
Dad keeps on trying to get me off to sleep - something about having to work or else there'll be no food on the table. Doesn't really bother me, since Mum's providing sustenance :-)

hung out to dry

After a particularly volcanic emission of korma, Dad reckoned the best thing would be to put me in the washing machine and then hang me out to dry. Fortunately Mum intervened in time, and then Dad ripped his fave pair of shorts - that'll learn him.

A stab in the dark

The outgoing Victoria Police Chief, is credited with overseeing a fall in violent crime, but as so often, the statistics ignore the problems of the youf of 2day. Only this week, I went up to Northcote Town Hall to hang with some mates from dahood, and we were viciously attacked by women wielding needles.

Fortunately, most of us escaped with a jab in each leg, although I did see a couple spiked in the bum. Quite frankly, getting a sticker as compensation is totally inadequate, and as for the words 'This is going to hurt mum more than you'... tosh!

Here are a couple more pics... I guess I should retract my statement that Dad's a dill, since the loo is now "functioning better than ever" according to Mum, but how it took him 3 days to work out how to fit a washer correctly beats me.

dill

Dad's a dill. He tried fixing the leaking toilet cistern this arvo while we were out, and has ended up making it worse. Honestly, you can't turn your back without him fiddling with stuff, although sometimes it works, like getting a cable for the teev aerial (Mum - rabbits ears are so 1980s!). He's quite pleased with a 50% success rate, but I suspect Mum isn't, and I don't think plugging a cable into the wall counts as a major engineering achievement.
We just watched a dvd of Dad's interview on ABC International's News Hour last week. I was a bit disappointed we had to wait 'til after all coverage of the global international financial crisis (yawn) before the interesting bit. Nice graphics, but Dad could've done with longer in make-up - he looked bloody knackered.
Friday was busy - went up to check on the maternal health nurse. She's doing quite well, all things considered, but hasn't put on much weight since I last saw her. I, on the contrary, have put on over 500g - thanks Mum! Keep the booster juice coming...
Otherwise, not much else to report. They've got me on some belladonna-based magic potion to combat wind. It doesn't taste too bad, and I did a spectacular yellow poo this morning, so I guess it works.

Ice Age

Thought you might like a few recent pics... this is also a way of showing off the new clobber I've been given recently (thanks Chantelle, Sofs and Nonna [for the caterpillar - my fave]).
Aunty Kat noted in previous fotos that I don't appear to have any hands... well, FYI, QIKM, I do! As you can see, Aunty Sofs had to get XXX-gloves for me when she was in Alaska. She obviously is unaware of the drought afflicting Oz... but at least I'll be properly kitted out if that el-Nino is replaced by an Antarctic blast.

Dad likes this foto, which shows off the booties my Irish Gran knitted (lucky she opted for the larger size!)

Burps and sneaky sleeps

Had a fairly quiet week, hence the lack of posts, although Wed. was busy with loads of visitors, inc. Sam and Ruth from Sydders. Dad cracked open a bottle of bubbly which was fun, 'cos Mum had some too - hic!

Since then, they've been obsessed with trying to get me to burp... they've even resorted to squirting some foul elixir down my throat before feeds - honestly it doesn't mix well with a pint of Mum's Special Brew, but it coincidentally makes Dad burb, so I guess if it keeps them happy...

Dad's put up a couple of vids, in case you're interested:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xtDEyUIjSMo

I've no idea why Mum thinks I want a pony (nor a baby pool, and I've no intention of become a pirate! Honestly, that was SO last month).

They also try repeatedly to get me to sleep during the day, which is just ridiculous - there's SO much to look at and flail my arms at, why would I sleep? That said, it's quite tempting to have a sneaky sleep for a couple of hours after a dawn feed - a good start to the day.

IR Law reform and sustainability

Much as I'm glad to see the back of Little Johnny, and welcome Rudd 07's 08 plans for 18 wks maternity benefit (can we have it backdated please?), I'm a bit concerned about his proposed IR Law reforms. I mean, as a small business enterprise employer, with a workforce of 1.5 (dad has half the week off, so he only counts as part-time), I'd be ruined by a return to collective bargaining and reinstalling of workers' rights. My employees are already murmuring about forming a union, The Lactationers and Toxic Waste Disposalers (LATWaD), and demanding rights such as a shorter working week, fixed breaks and holiday pay. Holidays? Dream on... they'll be expecting me to donate MY Costello Bonus towards their trip to Bali next.
Then there's all this sustainability nonsense. Let's just face it - babies are unsustainable. I've given up counting the cost of my carbon emissions but I've only got an 8 cm footprint, and I don't think that's excessive for a 3.5 week old.
Dad says I've trebled the volume of garbage the family generates, but quite frankly, I don't think they were trying very hard before. Filling the bin is easy, and it's just not efficient for the council to empty half-filled bins.

stuck in a rut

Sorry for the lapse in blogging, but two weeks in and life's developed a sort of ennui and there hasn't been much to report. Went to Northcote 8 festival on Sunday (as Father Bob said on Triple J, the sun comes out and every bugger decides to hold a festival) - it was ok, but nothing that exciting to rouse me from a decent kip.
To break the routine of eating and poo'ing, I've decided to start training for the Toddlerympics in Wagga 2010... I'm kind of hoping Mum'll put me on a special diet, 'cos the milk thing is starting to become monotonous. I've obviously entered all events, but I reckon my best chances of medals will be in the Under 6kg Unsynchronized Leg Kicks (both Intensity and Endurance events), the Musicless Random Flailing of Arms, and the boxing of course - Mum says I'm a little Barry Hall, although I prefer comparisons with Barry McGuigan, the Clones Cyclone. Caught Dad a beaut in the eye the other morning - it'd've floored a lesser man, were it not for the fact he was already lying down - and Mum's boobs are excellent pummel-bags. Auntie E just sent me a Paddington Bear, so I'll practice some of my wrestling moves on him too.
Right, back to the ring... Dad keeps on looking out anxiously for post - something about a supply and demand problem and consignment of Bambo nappies being due for delivery. While I'm a bit more relaxed about the whole bottom thing, I do agree that the other 'market leader' nappies he's been wrapping me in of late are shit-house.

words of advice

Funny how you plan a quiet weekend only for it to turn into an absolute bender! Partied all Friday and Saturday nights, and hit the bottle again last night... passed out at some stage; can't remember nuffink after 3am - it was mad. SO much fun.
Mum and Dad stayed up too - they didn't have to. I mean, I can look after myself, and 30-somethings need their sleep. Unlike us young'uns... Can't wait until next weekend - might even invite some mates round.
We keep on getting visited by midwives, which is all well and good, but they're interrupting feeding times and starting to give me the shits. And, they ALL have contradictory advice - I'm starting to worry that Dad will make a concoction of all the things they've recommended putting on my belly-button (which is fine, just a bit gunky - if Mum's worried about that, she should see my arse! Oh yeah, I wish she'd stop noting down every time I have a poo - I'm starting to get a complex).
One thing us Zzzzers need to remember is that whoever shouts loudest shouts last. Dad had this ridiculous theory that I should sleep in my cot, rather than their bed (or wherever), but a few minutes of hysterics on Fri night soon wore them into submission. C'mon, I wasn't born yesterday - parents will do anything to placate a crying baby.
Right, better toddle on - need to look up "little bugger" in an on-line dictionary, as the phrase seems to be being bandied about rather a lot these days.

A week is a long time...

Had a great kip last night, apart from 'yon parental unit' periodically waking me up to feed and stuff (Mum obviously didn't read the previous blog entry about 'stuff', but the carpet looks much cleaner now, after all that scrubbing). Mum and Dad mean well, but they don't seem to realise I can multi-task and don't need to have all those bright lights on to 'suck suck swallow' (I wish Dad'd remember the 3s are SO passé now - the new mantra is 'suck swallow breathe').
I learnt that one on Tues, when I went back to the Mercy to catch up with a few mates in the breast feeding clinic. They may be able to out-cry me, but Mum was proud of my loud "fluffies". Dad claims he went into the office while we were busy there (no big boys allowed, given all the boobs on display), but that doesn't sound a likely story to me.
People have been v kind, sending all sorts of clothes and stuff - particular faves include Sandra's giraffe top and my mate Lloyd (Pru's 3 month old)'s 'Far out, brussel sprout' t-shirt. Dad keeps on trying to squeeze me into 0000 flannettes - I think he's hoping they'll stretch, but considering I've re-bounded to birth-weight in 3 days and am quaffing as much 'boost juice' as Mum can produce, he's dreaming.
Haven't got any real plans for the weekend - thought I'd have a quiet one in on Fri night watching the footie, and maybe head over to Preston on Sat arvo. Mum keeps on talking about me getting a pony and Dad says there's a quadruped at Nonna's house which would do just as well. I have my doubts about this Harry the horse-substitute...

8 b4 8

When Dad was a lad, he studied at Cambers and encountered (but came no-where near completing) many strange and decadent traditions, including the 8 before 8 Club - members qualified by consuming 8 pints on King Street, before 8pm. Naturally, I wouldn't condone such excesses, but I think I can match those feats, albeit in pints of milk and/or poos.

Got off to a flying start this morning, at least for the latter, although Dad was less than impressed when his fave Syrian carpet was on the receiving end of a messy moment. Silly place to put it, if you ask me. I therefore thought I might give some tips for new dads:

1: nappies - make sure they're securely fastened on... us babies can wiggle out of more constraints than Hoodini

2: interpreting baby noises - it's quite simple. WAAAA means I'm hungry; WAAAA means I need a change; WAAAA... just keeping you on your toes.

3: just because it's mum's b'day today (and grandpa Colin's), doesn't mean she gets a lie-in

They'll learn...

:-)

the homecoming

As it turned out, we didn't need to escape the hopspittal - I rather suspect they threw us out due to a couple of messy moments I had yesterday. All perfectly normal - I mean, what goes in must come out.
The new abode's ok - bit quieter than the ward (some of those kids are really gurners), but I'm periodically going my best to change that. I think of crying as a way to meet the neighbours. Uncle Duncan's given me a bottle of Jamesons, in case I get bored of milk... and Aunty Coral has given me some booties which is great 'cos I do get cold feet, even on lovely sunny days like this.
I have to say Dad's got a bit of work to do - I mean, the place needs a good vacuuming and MY room is full of books and soil-encrusted archaeological stuff. I guess I'll have to stay in their room until he sorts out a new storage facility. The soccer and Touch balls can stay 'tho...

the folks

Here's mum - she likes looking at me



















And here's dad, who's kindly typing up my musings (at least until I get a high chair for the compoota and get my hands free from this swaddling thing)

Day 1

Got born today - a bit messy, and traumatic towards the end, but could've been worse. I quite liked the balmy 36 deg inside Mum, but ultimately, the whole pregnancy malarky got a bit confining. Now I've got the run of a whole ward and I'm planning an escape into the outdoors on Sat. Dad's going to drive the get-away, a la Steve McQueen, assuming he doesn't get too hammered out with Duncan and the pgrads on Fri night... Mum says not to expect a 9am'er.

Mum's great - not only did she carry me around for 9+ months without too much complaint but she's now opting for demand feeding: as much milk as I can drink, as and when I want it. I'm sure it won't last... Dad doesn't really do much, although to be fair he did take me swimming this arvo and changed my 1st soiled nappy (bit of a stinker, I'm afraid - sorry). He's said we can go for a kickabout in the park later when Mum's cooking tea.

I haven't quite decided who I follow in the footie yet, although obviously not the Pies (what was Mum thinking?). Dad heard the Herd's '(The King is dead) Everything must change' on the radio on the way home this morning, which seemed quite appropriate.

Beijing Olympics? That was SO before my time... don't know what all the fuss was about.

Right, better have some kip now... or some more milk? Decisions, decisions... I'm not X or Y, rather Gen Zzzz and this is the World According to FinnT, aged 20 hours and 6 minutes.