Making Plans

07.04.12.

An uneventful morning, briefly punctuated for me by the obligatory visit to Waitrose. It was rammed. Every aisle was filled with Brighton's middle classes, panic-buying legs of lamb, hot cross buns and over-priced tulips.

In the afternoon, Team Wayne trotted over to the house of one of the families we know through NCT. The boy was not the best company; his teeth are driving him mad. Fortunately, his little buddy, Lenny, was sporting matching flushed cheeks, slight rash and commitment to Calpol. Dexter did manage to inhale a couple of Dairy-Lee sandwiches, but spent much of the time face down on the floor or trying to clamber up the legs of the husband or me.

Snacks over, the grown-ups got round to the serious business of booking a summer holiday in France. It's exciting to actually have it in the diary. It will also be the prompt I need to get the boy's passport sorted. I will probably have to pay some over-inflated price to get the pictures done professionally as I don't fancy my chances of getting Dexter to balance/sit still on a swivel stool whilst I remain out of sight behind a curtain.

We were home by nine o'clock in the evening. Dexter fell asleep on the way home and remained asleep as we changed him into his pyjamas and put him to bed. It's a shame he has passed the one year mark, as at less than twelve months, they don't have to have their eyes open on children's passport photographs. Now that would be a doddle.

Hey, I put some new shoes on, and suddenly everything is right...

06.04.12.

Good Friday has been good. It started with a big lie-in for Team Wayne (ten o'clock if you will), followed by a brilliant brunch of 'special scrambled eggs': scrambled eggs with anything else left in the fridge chucked in. There was a minor blip involving a Vesuvius-esque nappy explosion followed by mandatory military-style shower and scrub.

When we finally left the house, the sun was out (I took my puffa off for twenty five whole minutes), and Brighton had that laid back, bank holiday, jollyday vibe going on which I love so much. The main mission of the day was to get the boy kitted out with some shoes. He's increasingly keen to be on his feet, and increasingly in need of a little support in the foot area.

In a flashback to my own youth, we trotted along to Clarks, where he was measured (three and a half,G), and kitted out with the latest 'Lad Cruisers'. And just how pleased does he look in today's #366 photograph?! I was not quite so thrilled upon checking out the 'First Shoes' welcome pack, to discover that we have to take him back in six to eight weeks, potentially to get a new pair. A horse in full work gets more use out of its footwear.

We also treated the boy to his very own little push-along walker to get best use out of his new shoes. Several laps of the living room floor and a new bout of tooth/gum ache later, the boy was ready for his bed. I have made a start on some of his Easter treats - I'm selflessly thinking of those developing teeth... 

I'm also hoping for another lie-in tomorrow. I love Easter.

Homeward Bound

05.04.12.

My mum let me sleep until eleven this morning. Bliss. My batteries are in need of some serious recharging. When I woke up, the boy was out in his buggy with Granddad, on one of Granddad's thrice-daily trips to Sainsbury's - ah, the joys of retirement!

Today was heading back to Brighton time, but not before a big family breakfast, a catch-up with some more extended family members and having to borrow a suitcase to take home instead of my holdall, as Dexter has procured a number of Easter gifts.

Today's #366 photo is of the boy in the car park at Manchester airport. He looks quite chilled-out in the picture; he didn't remain quite so laid back for the remainder of the journey. Getting home was just a bit tedious. The boy was tired, tetchy and toddler-ish. Fortunately, various airport staff/members of the public were helpful with lifting/carrying/waiting patiently.

The poor boy's teeth are really bothering him. He's been proudly sporting just the two for about four months now - I definitely think some more are on the way. Dexter flashed a particularly broad (but gummy) smile as we turned the corner into 'Arrivals': Daddy had come to pick us up. Order was restored.

Cold Snap

04.04.12.

Today's #366 photograph captures Dexter striking a pose that has become very familiar this week. He has become obsessed with staring out of the back door (I have caught him licking the actual glass on a number of occasions), with a quiet yearning for the outdoors.

My parents have a lovely garden. It is big and flat, with a swing, a little trampoline and several ride-on bikes. Sadly, this door-framed view of it is the closest the boy has got to exploring this week. It is freezing. No amount of my mother's reminiscing about last week's 't-shirt weather' is going to convince me to a) take the boy outside or b) remove my enormous, heavy, super-warm maternity winter coat that I have fallen back in love with (despite not being pregnant) and have brought oop North with me.

Today, the boy and I paid a brief visit to a family member who lives in North Wales. We drove through an actual snow flurry, and the skyline boasted a vista of snow-covered mountains. 

I'm afraid, Dexter dude, you're staying this side of the glass. You're a southern boy: you won't cope.

Best foot forward

03.04.12.

This was the boy this morning: scooting up and down my mum's galley kitchen with his cousin's (now surplus to requirements) baby walker. We don't have our own walker yet, but they've been trying to get the boy going on one at nursery. They've resorted to an actual zimmer frame, as Dexter is so distracted by the buttons and lights on the genuine article, that he keeps falling over. He seems quite happy with the one pictured. He's still not bending his knees though and insists on walking on his ankle bones. Perhaps he's just not ready. I was eighteen months old before I walked; prior to that, I just shuffled along on my bottom.

I spent all afternoon sitting on my bottom, several floors up  at Manchester's Hilton Hotel, enjoying a belated Mother's Day afternoon tea with my mum. It was a little strange being there with my mum, as a mummy myself, as the last time I was at the venue was for cocktails for my hen-do. How times have changed. The food was delicious, and the experience oozed sophistication - that is until my mother got her Tupperware out of her handbag (I kid you not), to take home the 'left-overs'.

The boy spent the afternoon with Granddad. I figured his rather primitive attempts at being mobile, were probably best confined to the house.

Coffee and catching-up

02.04.12.

Despite it being April, the weather in Manchester seems to be suffering from some sort of seasonal confusion disorder. Today's plan was a visit to the park with two of my school friends and their children. It ended up being a catch-up over coffee at the local David Lloyd; pleasingly, the idea of actual exercise was never even entertained.

It was lovely catching up with some dear old friends. We've known each other since being eleven years old, and now we have a five year old, a thirteen month old and an eleven week old between us. It was all very civilised. The eldest child played with my youngest niece; tiny baby just chilled out on the laps of various people. Dexter exhausted himself with an extensive game (about three minutes) of 'Peek-a-boo', and then slept.

In the evening, we hooked up again, but this time, without children. Wine was consumed, birth stories exchanged and much reminiscing about school crushes took place. There was crazy-talk of continuing the catch-up somewhere with later opening hours. Fortunately, sleepy suburbia offered no such opportunities. Given that I'm currently sharing a room with Dexter, I think fate was on my side.

Come fly with me

01.04.12.

First of April today and this fool took a thirteen month old on a flight to Manchester. Actually, it transpired not to be such a ridiculous quest. As mentioned before, my roots are in the North, and my family is based in Manchester. As I have two glorious school-free weeks ahead of me, the boy and I are going to spend some time visiting ma famille.

The husband dropped us off at Gatwick. We travel light. I pack a wardrobe of small, black, lycra garments (much less exciting than they sound). Dexter's kit is all miniature man clothes anyway. My sister has two young children, so all the baby kit is still knocking around. My mum is more of a product junkie than I am, so I basically take a toothbrush in my washbag.

Travelling alone with a small person seems to be the way to do it anyway. I first flew up North with the boy (singlehandedly) when he was seven weeks old. I was treated like a slightly jollier, curvier and poorer version of Victoria Beckham, with people falling over themselves to help this poor tiny female with a newborn strapped to her front.

People were equally kind today, with the added bonus of being able to push the significantly larger baby round in the trusty Maclaren, pretty much until I stepped on the plane.

The boy and I ended up sitting amongst a twenty-strong hen party. He was very well-behaved, and they were very impressed I managed to juggle Dexter, his books and his blanket, and a complimentary tiny bottle of Pinot: months of practice.

The boy was charm personified - appropriately sleepy/smiley as required. The plane landing must have jiggled him around a bit, as he managed to fill his nappy just as we hit the runway. The plane cleared pretty quickly...