29 April 2009

These pudgy little piggies were made for walkin'

Stagger, stagger, wait, smile, stagger, plop, ray!

As the carers at kindy, the mummies at Playgroup, the creche staff at the gym, my mother, my sister and anyone who will listen will tell you, I've been announcing that Amelia was going to walk before her first birthday since she was about ten months old.

I was wrong.

I forgot that it is the Most Random Baby In The World's job to keep me guessing, so she chose April the 16th, her birthday, to take her first few steps. And do you think she was pleased with herself? She looked like the cat who caught the canary, brought it back inside to its owner only to find its bowl full of cat biscuits, full-cream milk and four more canaries.

Proud, proud mummy.

We marked the birthday occasion last weekend at a quiet morning tea with Nan, Pop, Grandpa, Reni, Auntie Jo and Auntie Robin, all of whom brought lovely pressies, including the coolest jeans I've ever seen - baby-sized or otherwise.

Mummy and Daddy presented Amy with Bunny 2, an imaginitively-named toy rabbit that I was given (alongside Jo's Bunny 1) at about the same age. Apart from Mitchell's middle name of Thornely (which may or may not get him beaten up at school), Bunny 2 is the first thing that I've handed down to the next generation. And I know it looked like I was crying, but it was just that Bunny had been sitting in a box for 30 years and I get a bit of hay fever. Really.
Now let's just take a moment to see what 12 months can bring...

Small. squashed.

All big and pot-bangy.

Now in the interest of balancing the kiddie see-saw, Mitchell has had a few lovely breaks from saying "NO!" to everything and correcting his parents ("You DO want to squash me, Mummy!") in order to display his entertaining and frankly astounding view of the world. Some examples:

  • Whenever we pass a particular tree on the walk to the gym, he reaches out towards some fallen flowers and yells, "want a frangi-penny! Want a frangi-penny!"

  • He will only be happy if his right shoe is put on before his left shoe these days. My growing concerns about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder are somewhat balanced by my bursting pride at him knowing his right from left.

  • Reciting house numbers on long walks (see OCD comment above) remains a favourite pastime. I may have to start a new route, however, since he seems to have memorised which numbers on which houses are displayed, and which are not. Hence, on the way past the primary school, he'll tell me that "44" comes after "52", which it doesn't in the grown-up world. But sure enough, between number 52 and number 44, there are no house numbers displayed. Smarty-pants.

Oh, listen to me, all braggy braggy and such. They do horrid things too:

  • Amelia is playing yo-yo with her secondary incisors. They seem to appear one day and be re-covered by gum the next, each occasion being announced loudly several times during the night. I've got a lot to thank Science for, and Baby Nurofen is currently at the top of my list.

  • As hinted earlier, Mitch is about as contrary as a toddler can get, but only around his parents and his swimming teacher, it seems. If disagreeing was an Olympic sport, he'd be short-listed for 2012. He's a little bit like Jim Trott of Dibley in his delivery.

  • If I am in the same room as Amy, she will hold my legs. It's all squidgy and gorgeous, until I want to go anywhere or do anything. Then I have to either walk very slowly, or prepare for a big wail.

  • When not training for the Olympics, Mitch is trying for the record of the Latest Commencement of Toilet-Training Ever. I must have read about twenty-five articles or book chapters about the 'signs' to look out for that a toddler is ready for toilet-training, and I'm lucky if I can tick off a single one. He occasionally shows interest in sitting on the loo, but it's usually to distract Mummy's attention from a less-desirable option, like having a bath or going to bed. And the moment his bum-cheeks hit the seat, he says, "finished Mummy!" and I'm obliged to congratulate him on perching there in the first place. Sigh.

Ok, enough. You're all up-to-date. Now I'm sure I can find other ways to avoid doing work...

1 comment:

  1. 1. I didn't have hay fever. I just bawled like a... well, like a teething baby.

    2. Jim Trott! Ha!

    3. I love your kids more than cheese. And cheese loves your kids HEAPS.