Archive for May, 2012

Days with Tom #3. The Clip Show.

May 30, 2012

Hey Tom. Remember how I said I was going to document our days together? Remember how I warned you of my innate laziness? Well, one month on from my last post to you, I think you can guess what happened.

Yep. Nothing.

It’s annoying, because we’ve had so much fun together. Like… [CUE WIDDLY WEE HARP MUSIC AND WOBBLY VISUALS]

Getting you up in the morning

Ah, a freshly woken baby. Toasty warm. Can’t be beaten. OK, it would be great if you woke up a little bit later than HALF PAST FIVE EVERY FUCKING MORNING but once you’ve got past that, how can you not love this?

“Ah, Mr Daddy. We’ve been expecting you. I’ve done a poo by the way.”

Our morning constitutional.

This has become a firm favourite. (No, not a poo. A walk.) We roam the streets looking for cats to point at and dogs to be disconcerted by. A couple of days ago you were licked by a three-legged black lab. You didn’t like it. The licking bit, not the three-leggedness.

What I like about our trips out is that no-one bats an eyelid at a hungover daddy wandering the streets with a small baby wearing pyjamas and wellies. Mainly because it’s six in the morning and no-one else is around to see it. I like the fact that you’ve decided to come out with a book. Just in case the walk gets too dull.

Image

“Yay! Walking! PJs! Wellies! Book!”

Shortly after this picture was taken, you wanted to go home. Only another 12 hours to go before bedtime, which is why I thank God for…

Telly

Peppa Pig DVDs. Octonauts on Series Link. Baby Jake. Nothing keeps a baby occupied better than TV.

“Shh. Postman Pat’s on. Now go and get me some juice.”

Obviously we don’t watch the commercial channels, Tom. Children’s programming should follow the Reithian mantra of “inform, educate and entertain”. Notice the absence of “distract” . Reith obviously never had a small child running around his house.

How else do we spend the day? Well, we lunch. By crikey we lunch. We’ve been to Mr Jamie Oliver’s Italian Restaurants in Stratford and Canary Wharf a few times, popped over to Eat 17 for a Mac ‘n’ cheese (‘n’ Malbec) and occasionally, we’ve had lunch at our desks (or in your case, in your chair).

Post-lunch, we build massive Babel-esque towers, run around and refuse to go to sleep.

Well, I say “we”. It’s more “you”. Personally I’d kill for an afternoon nap.

No? Oh well. You carry on with the whole tower thing.

“I shall build a tower whose top may reach unto heaven. Actually, can I go to the park now?”

Only a few hours till mum gets home.


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