Paul Davidson
Weeknotes 142: The Kraken is cracking
Piglet hobbled in for breakfast and announced “My legs hurt going up and down stairs. Like my bones are trying to escape.” Last week’s Park Run gave her DOMS. Not severe enough to miss her first sports day in the sunshine. A herd of 3 and 4 year olds milling around being cute and confused. One of her friends has an A++ energy rating, drawing zero power when in standby mode. I got to play one of my favourite games: listening to the pseudo-swears of other families. A fiddlesticks and a sugar this time. Which, admittedly, is better than when The Chef referenced “butt jam” during a nappy change.
The sports are having an effect. I can’t circle her bicep with my hand anymore. She’s either getting swole or growing up. Or both.
The Wee Free Man is chonky enough that I’ll not be able to circle him by 6 months. He has a cold at the moment and has lost his voice. Crying with no voice is just the saddest non-sound. Right up there with the micro-expression he makes before he does it.
My early birthday present arrived. It’s canny. ChromeOS is limited, but it can run Android apps, so I have my comic reader back. And it meant I could edit the homepage. The link to Twitter is gone. In a pique of “I could learn CSS one day”, I added hover effects on links.
Piglet’s end of year school report is lovely. As with all good feedback, it contained no surprises. Rather than have it read to her, she asked if she could make up ten songs about flowers. We got lilac, rose, lily, poppy, bluebell, daisy, dandelion, sunflower, buttercup and clover set to a variety of tunes. It was the best. As good as baby smiles, which are also the best.
Bad weather and The Chef joining Team Ill, meant we cancelled weekend plans and asked for an extra night sleep-out for Piglet. The grand unveiling of the Inaugural Father-Son Day1. Did he have to wear the “I love Daddy” t-shirt for it? Yes. Yes he did. We watched the thunder and lightning together and utterly failed at bottle feeding. While he napped on the couch and The Chef slept, I finished Colin from Accounts. Four quick things on it: it’s great, go watch it; the music is fab too; the way the cancer survivors reflexively ask about how others are doing is authentic and heartbreaking; as someone married to the NHS, the medic’s reaction to health news is 100% correct.
Piglet returned energised and filled with the worldly wisdom of a 4 year old. She might not have lasted in the cinema (too loud and scary), but one trailer and she’s an expert on Krakens. My spatchcock chicken got the two thumbs up seal of approval too.
A tiring weekend. With all the worries about the 4 month sleep regression, I’d forgotten that the more exhausting bit at this age is the daytime. Awareness enough to need constant stimulation, but a complete lack of physical control to do it himself. A two-ish month window where he can’t be abandoned to his own devices. The cost of unconditional love is unconditional love. We expect more illnesses for our run down bodies.
And then he learned to giggle.
I didn’t make the Father-Son / Daddy-Daughter naming convention. I just follow it.↩︎