Fred: Month 5

Dear Fred,

This week we discovered that we share a mutual love of Paul Simon, particularly his Graceland years. Tonight’s bath was too fun what with me calling you Betty and you calling me Al. And then you ate your feet, oh my god did you eat your feet!

But I get ahead of myself here.

Months 4 and 5 have been eventful to say the least. You found your voice, you discovered your inner grumpy, you laughed and smiled and you traveled half way around the world and back again. And that is just the surface – I’m not really too sure where to start or how to make this flow and seeing as I just don’t have the time to worry about either too much, I’m just going to jump on in there.

These past few months we have met ‘Fred: The Grumpy Little Sod’. Sure, you smile and laugh when it suits you, but it is pretty apparent that you are quite a serious little boy, sullen, but ever-curious. You sit there taking it all in, you move yourself around to see whatever noise or light-movement is taking your fancy. You glare at me as I leave the room to make a cup of tea and continue to stare at the spot you last saw me until I come back. You like a good yell, a shrill high-pitched scream which resonates with such ferocity it physically assaults anyone in the room.

‘Oh Dear! Oh Dear! Darling Freddy – Whatever is it? Are you OK?’
‘Of course I am NOT Stupid Woman! I need to be held. NO. Not like that. Tighter. TIGHTER! OK. Like that. I am mildly happy now.’

But when the sun shines on your day (which unfortunately is at about 7am) and you find yourself in a favourable mood, you are an absolute delight. Smiles, squeals, giggles, full-blown laughter. Wide-eyes, waving arms, bubble-blowing dribble. Hugs. Yes, HUGS. I though the heavens were going to explode the day you smiled and that it could not possibly get greater than that. But Hugs, sweet little Fred hugs, when you wrap your mini arms firmly around my shoulders and neck and pull me in with all you might and nuzzle your head in my chest, under my chin, so I can smell your sweet hair and feel your little heart beat… pure bliss. And most remarkable about this is that as long as I am willing to hold you, I have hugs on tap. Hugs which can fix anything. And if we are not hugging and having a nice moment together, we are lying face-to-face, only inches apart and you are exploring my face. Touching it, stroking it, grabbing it, and yes, sometimes punching it. You coo away, so delighted that your new found hands (more on that later) are able to actually touch your slave. And like all things you manage to grab in your hands these days, you try to put my face in your mouth. Something you find so exciting that you ignore the logistical problems. And I quite happily submit to being slobbered and sucked on. Although after you deposited a litre of spit in my left nostril, the nose is definitely off-bounds.

Your hands, of yes, your long little fingers from which nothing is safe. Your aim is appalling, and your dad stares on worriedly asking me what my hand-eye co-ordination is and whether that explains it. But you are persistent and normally get what you want. The play station which you lie under is your bitch as you swat, kick, and pull at everything that dares to move. Your dummy? That’s a good one. Pull it out. Scream. I put it back in. Pull it out. Scream. I put it back in. Today when we enacted this tried and true game you actually smiled as I picked it off the rug and went to put it back in. And not in a ‘It’s that Slave Woman!! Yay!’ way but a ‘Tee hee’ way. I’m onto you Fred. You’re a cunning little fella.

And with your growing deftness in hand use, so too has the ability for you to shove your feet in your mouth grown. Now, you’ve always been quite aware of your feet and legs, from splashing them about in the bath to thumping them up and down as I carry you in the sling, but it has been a relatively recent development that you have been able to suck on them. I remember the day you figured out that you could do that – you hands had long been permanently attached to your mouth – but the expression on your face when you realised that you could shove not one, but TWO extra appendages in your mouth was priceless. It was halfway between sock and anger as your eyes asked me why the hell I hadn’t pointed this out to you earlier. So at any given opportunity, one will find you furiously lunging your vacuum-of-a-mouth at both feet, rolling about like an up-turned turtle. This in turn has led to you rolling over. Turtle-back Fred frequently found himself on his tummy and after a few calculations, you realised that this was something that could be done... ON DEMAND. Which has bought about the advent of ‘Rolling Fred’. Changing you nappy? Nope – Let’s Roll. Putting your clothes on? Hmmm... Perhaps A Roll is called for. Going to Sleep? Hell No Woman – Watch me Roll. Rather than being excited by this baby milestone, I find myself dreading the fact that crawling (which you give a red hot go to every time you are on your tummy) and walking are not too far in the future. I find myself wondering whether it is cruel to hope that you might continue to develop mentally but remain my little huggy, stationary, jelly bean.

You met your extended family this past month and we can safely say that they agree with us that you are a little legend. You bravely went from only two people in your life to being passed around to pretty much every person in Adelaide. And whilst you fell in love a fair few times (pretty much always with a female, you sly dog) you fell more in love with your dad and I. Whilst I obviously benefit from being the constant face in your face, you dad has reached new heights of coolness these past few weeks. He simply has to walk into the room and you dissolve into rather unpleasant (yet happy) shrieks and dribbling so profuse I worry that you might shrivel up from dehydration. Yes – your dad is one fun man to be around.
























So summer is almost upon us, and with my new picnic rug, many opportunities await. We are due to start solids sometime in the next month and no doubt you will take to that with your usual aplomb. By my estimation, you are a pretty easy baby, and if we can look beyond an inability to settle yourself (largely due to the complacency/weakness of your parents), there is very little to moan about.

I will leave you with today’s discovery: A mutual appreciation of musicals. As I folded and hung today’s washing, we played all my musical CDs. I sang along and you beamed and dribbled away in wonder. And we can safely say that Aladdin is by far and away your favourite. Your dad breathed a sight of relief with this as the other contenders were My Fair Lady, The Sound of Music and Hair. I did, however, neglect to point out to him that you were particularly enamoured with the female vocals on A Whole New World, but some things are best left unsaid. Next Month? Well…. No doubt I it will involve buying all the great animated films from Toy Story to Tarzan…. *sigh* It’s tough spending time with you, my darling Fred.

UPDATE: I somehow have forgotten to mention Baby Einstein. Which really should have teed off this entry and been written in capitals, italics, bold with an underlined. It has revolutionised our world. Baby Einstein is the shit.