Paul Davidson
Weeknotes 141: I’ll write it in blue so they know it’s from me
Parenting preschoolers is just holding it together. One (1) late night with some TV and beers and I’ve sinuses the size of cantaloupes.
The late night capped a week of insufferable cheeriness. Piglet buttoned her school dress by herself and the excitement was so infectious I was singing and dancing around at breakfast. It got so OTT that I learned When the Saints Go Marching In on the ukulele for her coming home.
A few chill days at work listening to a combination of Daniel Avery and Bazball have helped. Met The Chef for lunch out one day after the Wee Free Man’s BCG and we got a Christmas light walk booked. How’s July treating you?
Speaking of the Wee Free Man, it was his 100 days this week. He celebrated it by learning to grab, hold and put things in his own mouth.
And, speaking of things he puts in his mouth, he’s gone from 9th centile at birth to 98th. You can’t overfeed a breastfed baby, but he’s doing his best to test that theory. We’ve had a couple of eat till vomits this week and when he comes off, his nose looks like he’s wearing a Breathe Right Nasal Strip. Chonk.
To try and push him all the way to the 100th centile, I managed the first bottle feed this week! The Chef’s independent future is opening up. The second feed was hard-fought through tears. Third a bust. Fourth great. And nothing but duds since. We’re chipping away though and he’s already better at it than his sister.
His sleeping contains multitudes. Incredibly light and fussy, but joining up his stretches into longer chunks. We’re back to evenings in the living room. The impending four month regression looming over us.
Piglet had her rehearsal show at MADD club. Happy to sing along with the chorus, but forgetting to sing any time she had to remember actions. We’re not signing her up for Sylvia Young yet.
There’s only one book on the bedtime reading roster; our personalised Father’s Day book. Her life plans shared at bedtime are that she’d like a giant number balloon for every birthday until she’s 18, because she’ll be too big for them by then 🥺
The street party on the green was as damp as Hope valley two years ago. Not that the kids minded. Piglet braved her rollerskates for the first time. Sunday was alarms all round to make it to the park run with her actually-does-these-every-week running buddy. We didn’t come last! Couch-to-2K complete. Knackered by the time we got to Wildside for the combo-fourth birthday party. When we asked about visiting the park that afternoon we got a “No thanks. Pizza and chips in the house please.” A well-earned bath fizzer and made up stories before bed:
“woohoo,” said the Wee Free Man in his little voice.
“WOOHOO,” said Granddad in his big voice.
“Woohoo,” said Piglet in her medium voice.
Woohoo!
9 July 2023