Babies = Lemmings

Did you ever play that game Lemmings?

You know, where dozens of little green haired dudes poured out of a tube at the start of the level, and whose onward march never ceased, meaning you had you had to build stuff to keep them from throwing themselves off cliffs, jumping into death traps, or getting stuck in places they’d never return from?

Yeah, looking after a crawling baby is exactly like that.

Except without the green hair.

You’re caring for a little near suicidal life form whose only purpose in life, at the minute anyway, is to cause themselves injury. I can’t take my eyes off him for a second or he’ll either have crawled under the bed, or fallen off it. He’ll either have bonked his head on the floor, on the wall or on me. Or get his fingers stuck in the door. Or dive head first off the sofa. Or BREAK MY XBOX!!!

Right now Isaac is crawling so fast and getting himself into lots of fun situations, but aside from the odd head bonk, he hasn’t done any of those above things yet - except for breaking my Xbox, sob (*) - but as much as I pretend the task of keeping him safe is insurmountable for the sake of a funny blog intro, it’s so great to see him up and about. Well, on his knees and crawling anyway. You’re probably sick of blogs where I tell you how proud I am of him, but I really really am. He’s only seven months and is flying about with a speed I wasn’t expecting at this early stage. I’m not going to say he’s advanced for his age because I think that’s a load of rubbish when anyone says it, as if there’s a set age when all babies just start doing something (“Oh, I’m eight months old now. Better start saying dada and baba”(**)) and any baby that does something at an earlier age than they’re “supposed” to is somehow ‘advanced.’

But going into this new stage of baby development is properly exciting and frustrating in equal measure. I can’t be too frustrated though, and I’m not. Not really. He’s only testing the boundaries and I have to accept that there will be bumps and bruises and falls and bonks along the way. It’s all part of growing up.

And he’s growing up fast.

He’s pulling himself up onto his feet now.

So advanced for his age, I’m telling you.

The cat is less excited.

(*) Don’t worry. It’s only temporarily broken. I hope.
(**) He is actually saying dada and baba now. Well before 8 months.

A Letter to my Boy.

Issac,

You’re six months old now and you seem to do something new nearly every day. I couldn’t be more proud of you. I know that all babies and all parents go through much the same processes and feelings at this age or thereabouts, but you’re the only one who’s mine.

Every time I see you do something you’ve not done before, or try your hardest to perfect something you’ve been working on for weeks I can’t help but smile and/or break into tears. Right now you’re trying so so hard to get up on those knees and start crawling and you’re almost almost there. Every time you manage to raise yourself up on your knees and try to hold that position for as long as possible, before faceplanting into the mattress, or usually the floor, my heart swells with pride. Or when you’re doing it and you pause for a second and look up at me and your mummy, big smile on your face, drool dripping down your chin, but with a look of sheer determination on your face (you get that frustrated frown from me, sorry), sometimes how happy I am is too much to bear.

There are days when I honestly can’t quite believe you’re here. That these last six months have been some amazing dream I’m going to wake up from. It usually happens when I’m just sitting watching you try out something new, and I realise that I’ve been just staring at you for ten minutes. Or when we’re playing horsey on my knee. Or when you laugh your head off when I sing the theme to The Pink Panther while you get your nappy changed. Or when you smile that big beautiful smile when you watch mummy and daddy dance around the kitchen like idiots just to make you smile that big beautiful smile. 

But you are here.

And you are mine.

And I love you so very much.

Dad.