Sunday, 23 October 2016

Missing the boy

Over the last few weeks - and mainly because we have finally got Marley in to some semblance of bedtime routine - I am sorry to say I have not had quite as much time with the little man. 

On weekday mornings, I only have a short window in which I can pick him up out of his crib, change his nappy, and try and share as many smiles as possible before I have to leave him with his mum, and head off to work. 


Anyone who has seen my Instagram lately will already know his gurgly laugh is the most contagious and addictive thing about him at the moment. 



Like most people, I spend the majority of my day at a desk in an office. So by the time I get home around 7:00pm, he is already (if all has gone to plan...) fast asleep in his crib. 

On the plus side, it means I get to be in charge at weekends. Which is something that definitely DOESN'T always go to plan....

It's great to begin with; I get to sing songs to him, to any tune I like and with no lyrical meaning whatsoever, and he loves it. 



I get to lift him up, and swing him around - and he's almost big enough to throw up in the air (although I'm bound to get in trouble for that) and he loves that, too. 

But then, when I want to sit down for a minute, or make dinner, or watch some football - that's when he starts to hate it. 



It's not that he cries or screams, or anything like that, he just gets all uncomfortable and grumpy. 

Sometimes, I sit him down in his Baby Bjorn bouncy chair (always happens to be just before my wife walks in, so it looks like I've been doing nothing!) but even that doesn't keep him occupied for very long.

We think he has started teething, too, because he's had flushed cheeks, been a bit more irritable than normal - and is drooling like a dog. 

Oh, and he still hates baths. I think it's a legacy from Poolgate in France, where we dipped him in the cold water. He still cries to this day the second his toe is submerged.


(this is not Marley...)

He will soon learn that there are much worse things though. Our cat's litter tray, for example. This morning, the worst odour I've ever smelled met my nostrils. She must be sick, because whatever that was in the litter tray almost made me cry. 

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