Posts Tagged ‘Baby Jake’

Days with Tom 7. Sick days.

February 26, 2013

A Sick Boy, yesterday.

Hey Tom,

So you’ve been a sick boy these past few days. Not just poorly or a bit under the weather. I’m talking full-on parmesan-scented, tomato-skin-packed, when-the-hell-did-you-eat-that sick.

It all started on Thursday night. You went to bed, looking all smart in your big boy pyjamas and clutching your (soon to be washing machine-bound) Mister Monty.


“Night mum! Night dad! See you in the morning! And not in two hours, covered in sick! Definitely not!”

A couple of hours later, you woke up bawling. We rushed into your bedroom to find a scene reminiscent of Mister Creosote’s restaurant. It was in your hair. On your face. All over your pyjamas. Everywhere.

And all I wanted to do was pick you up, give you a cuddle and tell you everything was going to be all right. And then go and change my T-shirt.

Anyway, we hosed you down, changed the sheets, dug out some clean PJs and put you back to bed.

And then, a couple of hours later, we had to do it all over again. Sigh.

You were incredibly brave – if it had been me, I’d have been moaning about it for ages and complaining that I still had sick in my ear (sorry about missing that bit, by the way). I’m very proud of you.

Next morning, you seemed much brighter. We gave you some milk. You guzzled it with gusto. Well, you can probably guess what happened next. A day on the sofa beckoned.


“Mister Monty says more CBeebies please.”

Now, I quite enjoy being ill. I like lying around watching rubbish telly. And it turns out, you do too – that’s my boy. Unfortunately, we don’t share the same televisual tastes. While I was all for a Star Wars marathon, you insisted on Baby Jake.


Goggi Geeaaaaghmakeitstop!

Baby Jake Loves Waving. Baby Jake Loves Spinning A Web. Baby Jake Loves Musical Statues. Baby Jake Loves A Picnic Feast. Baby Jakes Lo…ENOUGH WITH BABY JAKE! PLEASE! I GET IT! BABY JAKE LOVES STUFF! CAN’T WE JUST WATCH SOMETHING A BIT MORE GROWN-UP LIKE JUSTIN’S HOUSE? Aaaand relax.

In fairness, I did convince you to watch WALL•E, which is the greatest animated film known to man.

So it wasn’t all bad, was it?


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.


“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…


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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