July 2006 Archives


Dear Finn

I thought it would take a bit more time for you to develop love affairs. But I guess I underestimated the lure of Boys’ Toys. Your swing to be precise. You have developed some sort of all consuming passion for that thing...to the demise of all other objects. Apart from, perhaps, a pair of your Mother’s cheap cotton undies, but that’s another story.

You love your swing. You spend as long as possible in it, grinning inanely, delighting in chewing your feet while gently lulling back and forth. Should you at some stage have to get out...the sun falls out of the sky, or Baby Einstein calls...not more than about 5 minutes will go by before you grab our hands to go for a little walk...and look where we end up? Wow, we’re somehow by some serendipitous coincidence back at the swing. Oh well, since we’re here...we might as well have a wee swing...

I guess I should be pleased that your developing single-mindedness has not yet sent you on repeat missions to destroy the PC or empty out the plant pots. The undies, well. Makes me feel that I should switch to silk lingerie. If only for the reason that should you get hit by a bus, you’ll have a decent pair of undies in hand.

Love yo white trash Mama



Dear Finn

Today I went to get you weighed. I haven't checked your weight for such a long time as you're a skinny wee thing and I didn't want to worry about your (picky) eating habits. And frankly I think you're doing fine...even if you are the size of the average 8 month old. But in the interests of first-time-Mum-know-nothing syndrome, here we are. You're 8.6 kg and sliding off the back end of the bell curve. Your head is still large, and your height is fine. You're a lollipop!

So today in light of this, my sweet lollipop boy, we will be starting a strict regimen of food ingestion. You will eat all the fatty, calorie laden food I can think of. Food so obesely lumbering it should be singing opera. Lucky for you food of this type smells and tastes divine. And you know I'm always here for you when you need help cleaning up the crumbs.

So that's it mate. No mucking around. You might get a good set of toughened arteries and an LDL count to die for, but whatever led you there, it will have tasted damn good.

Love Mum.

Love Custard. Love Cream. Love Chocolate. Love a medium-rare eye fillet steak smothered with a slab of blue cheese and served with fries.


Dear Finn

Today you are one. One year old. Not a series of weeks or months anymore, but a whole 365 days combined. You have no idea what this means either...except that you suddenly seem to have a whole new raft of toys that appeared with a large loud group of people yesterday. They sang pretty badly, watched you looking a bit dubious about cream cheese icing and then left, leaving all their toys behind. Not that you complained mind. You were pretty staunch about it all.

Today you're making me laugh. You splashed about in the melted ice in your old baby bath (that served as our esky yesterday) until you yourself were soaking wet and icy cold. Change of clothes number one. I then proceeded to empty the water into the pot plants. Ensuing puddle. You specifically chose your new swimming costume (not any of your other new clothes) and dragged them outside through said puddle. Did you know they were meant for swimming? Then suitably puddle-tested, you dragged them around the corner to the clothes line and washing basket, and put them in the basket. Is this where wet clothes come from? If I peek around the corner now, will you have hung them out to dry? Not likely! Pulling the already dry washing off the line is much more fun.

Later on, after change of clothes number two, you were again outside. I suspect you discovered the newly watered pot plants and tried to find the tastiest one. You are a dirty snot-covered maker of mischief and destroyer of plants...and I love you to bits.

love Mum