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...

:-)