The toddler blog has been lapsing of late, I know. I have been keeping notes of its odd behaviour however.
Sadly, the need to make money has kept me from hanging out with the beast as much I’d like. After traveling with it and spending so much time in its natural habitat, I was able to keenly observe certain behaviour’s and dutifully report. This is such a pity that dads traditionally miss out on a lot of the mad and awesome things their children do through the need to make the readies to buy the stuff and pay the endless fecking bills.
So, to make up for the missed blogs, here are some observations.
The toddler has a knack for finding the most dangerous objects to play with. I had no idea we owned so many pens and pencils until the toddler arrived in our world and invented the running-around-the-apartment like crazy with-a-sharp-pencil-in-hand-game. It’s also good at finding razors, broken glass and dried dog turds. It’s latest haul was a pack of hatpins. Six-inch long needles! If it’s dangerous or just gross, the toddler will find it and the toddler will want it. But I’m wise to it now. I’m onto its mind-games. I know I can’t freak out anymore when it has something dangerous because that triggers the chemical dump in its little melon telling it it’s onto a good thing and to never give it up, that it must fight with all the strength it’s tiny body can produce to hold onto the dried dog poo that’s obviously of value if dad wants to take it away. So when it had the hatpins, my learnt non-reacting negotiation skills came out and I try to swap the hat pins for a soft teddy bear, which of course makes the toddler suspicious, which in turn made me go nonchalant, (while I’m in full panic mode) as I view it side-eyed, ready to pounce and stop it stabbing itself in the head.
I felt very lucky that I got a couple of hours of time to myself during the week to actually watch a movie. I wasn’t working or pulling a small child out of a tight place as it said, “I’m tuck. Da, I’m tuck.” Sweet freedom was upon me. So I poured a glass of wine (from a box, because with children one can no longer afford the good stuff that comes in a bottle unless one is a politician or owner of a religion) and settled into the couch for a couple of hours of just me, my wine and a movie. I choose the Michael Bay film “13 hours”, mainly because I hadn’t seen it and I know Michael Bay’s work is loud and filled with action and I can’t watch those kind of movies when the wife is around — and that was the kind of mood I was in. Excited as all hell, I settled in for 2 hours of mayhem on MY telly that for once wasn’t locked on kids TV. But, of course I was wrong. Wrong on the time I had, the peace I had, the having time to myself part mainly. The toddler and the wife came back home when I was 15 minutes and three sips of my wine into the movie.
It took me 6 hours to watch the movie. Ya wanna know why?
Well ya see, the wife had promised the toddler some TV time in a bribe to get it to behave at some other place and time I wasn’t a part of. So, this promise now affected me. Bu okay, that’s fine, I get it, I totally understand. When I was a kid I was constantly kicked off the television if I was in the middle of a show, so the 7.30 report or an endless stream of news could be played. So I don’t want that to happen to the toddler…hang on…the toddler is now kicking me off the telly watching my shows…WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!? I’M IN CHARGE NOW. AREN’T I? So, after what seemed like a hundred years of Bananas in Pajamas, it decided it wanted to go to bed, which was bloody magic to hear. It went to bed and fell asleep. Now, with time to ourselves, I turned my movie back on and the wife was on her computer doing her work while wearing my headphones. Bliss right? I had the film turned up nice and loud – because I love a gunfight. Love them. My favourite things in cinema are gunfights and car chases. Because why else make movies?
Anyway. I now have parent hearing, which means I can hear a fart over a gunfight. So of course I hear the toddler wake up in the middle of a series of explosions. Not only do I hear it, the wife has heard it over the explosions on the telly and the video she was watching through headphones. Toddler was awake and wanting company. So, another long break ensues for some more toddler time watching yet another episode of the Bananas. Argh. At least it isn’t the fecking Wiggles or that stupid lamb from the Farmees.
Anyway. WE get her to bed again (the royal we, as in the wife got her to bed again while I looked at Facebook) and I finally got to the end of the movie. While credits were rolling, the toddler wakes again. We eventually work out later that night that she has a new tooth coming through so has been restless.
Bringing her out to the lounge again however, I got to introduce the toddler to Fawlty Towers. Usually when she’s watching television shows we like to watch she yells for the Bananas or her Farmees rubbish. But watching Basil and all, she lay on the beanbag and absorbed it, she loved it, which made me proud indeed. We’ve also tried her on Black Books to the same result. I’m the world’s happiest man. It’s the Flying Circus next. If the kid can love the Pythons before turning 2, she’s going to be something special. More special than she already is of course.
I Have No Idea What The Following is About:
The toddler decided that today was a great day for the natural evolution of walking on ones knees. I know she’s Australian, but the LNP haven’t quite demanded complete obedience just yet, (it’s coming, Dutton is trying, but we still have the illusion of freedom). We were only going to the shops and decided a family walk would be a nice thing to do in the lovely Melbourne Autumn afternoon. The toddler however, figured, a walk to the shops on its knees was in order.
It took some time to reach that goal of shopping with the knee walking things and then it figured lying on its stomach and having dad yell “ready-set-go” every ten metres was much more fun and would slow us down even more.
When we finally got home, the wife told the toddler she would be having a night with dad and that dad would be putting her to bed.
“That means no boob,” says dad, trying to be helpful due to the weening we are going through. The toddler got upset that its mum was heading out and there would be no boob. “Daddy doesn’t have the kind of boobs you’d want”. Says I, thinking I was being funny.
“Puck”. Says the toddler. “Puck it”.
The wife and I lose our damn minds laughing.
Sooooo…Being left once again in charge of the small human thing – brings me to the last little section in this here toddler tale.
As though walking on its knees wasn’t enough to upset its parents, tonight the toddler decided pretending to choke was funny. So, the toddler acts like it’s choking and dad loses his damn marbles. If you’ve never seen a 6’4, 300 pound man move like a lightning bolt; then friend, you ain’t seen nothing. I arrive at the infant with nothing but concern writ large on my face as I apply some swift taps betwixt its shoulder blades to dislodge the culprit of the choking. It grins at me. I’m first-aide trained, I’m an old bouncer, I’ve stemmed blood-flow, patched-up chefs chopping parts off themselves, breathed life back into a girl in a crowd-crush at a concert and I witnessed one of my actors actually hang himself for a shot – so I know that when one can speak or laugh while seeming to choke, air is getting through. I figure a little bit of rice may not have been swallowed properly and hand the toddler the sippy-cup to force the annoyance down it’s gullet. It drinks the water and proceeds to act the same way. What is the blue f—-k, thinks I. It snorts and a corn kernel pops out of a nostril to be readily shoved back into the nostril by an index finger, so the fun chocking sounds can be made again. Jesus H Christ! exclaims I. What is wrong with you? I retrieve the kernel from its head and then confiscate all food in a fit of righteousness and hand it a cracker.
It looks a the cracker and says “egg.”
“You want an egg?”
“Egg.” It repeats.
With a sigh and hanging my shoulders, I head for the kitchen.
It follows me in and I wonder what order it has for me now. But she hugs my leg and rests her little cheek against my thigh. “I ‘ove you Da.’
My heart explodes all over the kitchen.
“I love you too darling.” says I.
“Mum?” It asks.
“She’s with Jenn and the girls from GAG. They’re making another show. She’ll be back later.”
She looks up at me with those lovely blue eyes.
“Puck.” She says.
Then she turns and leaves the kitchen. I prepare her egg.
FUN FACT: She loves shoes.