It’s a red letter day folks! The toddler can say it’s own name now. The wife called me on the car phone, and I heard the toddler say its name. After months of fun asking “who’s Donkey?” and getting much merriment as it pointed to itself; it can now say it’s name properly. There has been much cheering in the apartment tonight.
It also has a gnarly skill of being able to spot a dog hair from 20 paces and remove it from carpet, vinyl, my bald head, things that resemble fur and seemingly – thin air. I’m very impressed with her dexterity as I have never been the most dexterous fella. I couldn’t walk in a straight line until I was 23 and I didn’t grow up until Wednesday of last week.
Despite all the cool stuff it does. There is still the annoying and downright weird.
Three nights ago I woke up to the toddler tweaking the tip of my ear. I don’t know why this was happening, but I remember climbing my way out of a nice dream believing there was a spider munching on me. Gasping awake, I realise it’s the toddler lying beside me tweaking my ear.
“Oi! Stop.”
It stops for a second. Then starts again, tweaking betwixt thumb and forefinger – as I’d seen a dog judge do many years before when checking the testicles of my show dog when I was a child. To this day it still makes me cringe – as does the word ‘entire’ when used in relation to the rattlers.
“The dog was entire.” Meaning – the dog had both his balls. He was ‘entire’. He was the mutts nuts, the terriers testicles. You get the point.
You now know far too much about me that I was once upon a time on the show dog scene.
Once I’d told the toddler to “knock it off”, she huffed and went back to sleep – for a bit. The next thing I know, I’m wakened by a small foot pushing its way between my ass cheeks.
“What fresh hell is this” cries I, as I throw my hips forward to avoid the invading foot. Another few millimeters and there would have been a big toe against the halo.
“Do you do this on purpose?” I enquire.
The toddler rolls over and tweaks the wife’s nipples only to have the kibosh put on that. Ya see. We are going through the weaning.
The toddler had pretty much weaned herself before we went overseas. But the travel and unknown sent the little beast back to the comfort of what she knew, and that was right back to the boob.
If anyone reading this ever wants weaning advice. Do it before the thing can speak properly. Listening to a tiny human cry and saying “please, please; I need it,” like some milk junkie – well, it breaks the hardest of hearts.
Anyways. The toddler finally goes back to sleep and so do I – kind of. It’s only 47 minutes until my alarm will go off. Even though I set an alarm, it very rarely goes off as I wake at least three hours before it’s meant to ring. What then follows is entering a sleep of paranoia. Knowing I have to get up soon, but wanting a little more sleep, sees me in a state of misery and feeling harassed by my own brain.
So, is this state of harassment – I enter the paranoid sleep – for what I feel is about four minutes – until I get the ear tweak and a big toe in my date.
“Christ on a hover board!” I cry. Will you please knock it off?
“Duplo “
“What?”
“Play with my duplo.”
“It’s 3am you nut. Go back to sleep.”
I roll over and shut my eyes.
“Duplo”
“No”
“Duplo”
“No”
“Duplo”
“NO!”
“Duplo”
“Christ.”
“Duplo”
“Sleep.”
Silence. Then the ear tweak.
“Oh sweet Jesus why? Why the ear?”
“Da. Duplo.”
“Da needs sleep. Da has to get up for work soon.
“Poor da.”
“Yes, poor da. But it must be done. So sleep.”
Silence.
“Duplo.”
Fuck me gently.
“Burglars stole the Duplo. We were burglarised.”
Then the alarm goes off and I groan.
I lie there for a moment then notice the toddler is asleep. The wife is asleep.
For a moment I consider allowing the alarm to continue for a bit, but alas I’m not a bastard. I was awake, harassed and not well rested.
I rose, showered, dressed, looked in the mirror and regretted doing that; made my coffee and looked out the window at the dark morning.
Then the call came.
“Da! Da!”
I scramble to the bedroom and there’s the toddler with arms outstretched.
“Tuddle Da. And a tiss “
I got my cuddle and a kiss and went out the door feeling like a million bucks.
I threw the tool bag in the truck, pulled the beanie down and drove into the dark morning off to pick-up my team make. Another bloke that is soon to enter the world of fatherhood for the first time. He asks me questions and I tell him stories – and boy, do I have stories.
Fun Fact: Tonight, she asked to watch a documentary and not Peppa Pig.
Danny Matier 