Mummy says she’s lost her writing mojo at the moment (I have no idea what that is, and apparently it’s not edible, so I didn’t give it any more thought). I personally think that September so far has been a pretty fun month – if she thought long and hard about it she’d probably find a whole load of things to blog about, but I’m 1 – I can’t tell her that. I can, however, write a little blog post myself (I know, I know – there’s no logic. But you’ve met my mummy, right? Logic isn’t really something she ‘does’).
I had a lovely week with both Mummy and Daddy at the start of September. Daddy had the week off, which meant that Mummy had someone else to sing to (she sings about everything – bathtime, dinnertime, bedtime, changing a nappy time. I smile and laugh, it’s only polite, but really I think she’s losing her mind).
Now that the holidays are over we’ve started a new term of Pyjama Drama, which is my favourite. I like to sit with Jo, the teacher, and I parade around the circle of other babies just waving, or smiling, or seeing if anyone else’s dummy/rice cake/beaker is up for grabs (although it’s disappointingly rare that I come up trumps). I’ll be honest, I’m not entirely sure why Mummy stays with me at these classes; I don’t really sit with her, and judging by how hot and flustered she gets I’m not sure she’s a massive fan of chasing me around the hall while the class carries on behind us.
We’ve started going swimming on a Monday afternoon. Swimming. Blows your mind, doesn’t it? A massive bath, and yet I still have to have a bath before bedtime (go figure). Mummy seems to spend the hour trying to convince me that it’s fun – but I’m already sold, I just can’t get my head around this massive bath thing so I think that my ‘looking vague’ expression is throwing her off. Yesterday I did wave at the waterslides, though, just to prove that I was enjoying myself.
Mummy disappeared on Saturday. Not by magic or anything, she got in the car and went to spend the day with some of my Aunties – not real Aunties, friends of the family, you know the drill. So Daddy and I had a day of fun which started in the pet shop (he wanted fish food, I wanted to wave at birds – it was a win/win situation). When Mummy’s not around I get to eat Marmite on bread – she’s not a fan and turns into this hand-washing mentalist when she makes it for me, whereas Daddy appreciates the stuff just as much as I do.
I have tried to get Mummy onto the same page as me when it comes to Marmite. By this, I mean that when she leant down under my high chair once to retrieve something-or-other, I plonked a piece of Marmite-y bread on her head (Marmite side down). That afternoon I got the occasional waft of, well, whatever it is that makes Marmite smell. I thought it was nice, Mummy did not.
The ‘rents have done something very clever in the last few weeks. I’ve always liked to keep them on their toes when it comes to food, and I think that has stressed them out on occasion. But I’ve suddenly realised that I haven’t had a bottle of milk in the afternoon for a good 2 weeks now. Sneaky little monkeys. The upshot is that I’m a bit less of a fusspot at evening meals, and this seems to make them very happy. I’ve also taken to eating my fruit rather than throwing it around. Mummy often applauds me when I don’t throw food on the floor, so I assumed her excitement levels would go through the roof if I DID throw it from the highchair. So I invented the Grape Grenade! Turns out I assumed wrong.
It’s not all been good, though. They took me to this place that smelt funny the other week and a nurse put a needle in my leg – 3 times. Yep, 3! You’d think she’d have got the hint when I screamed the place down after the first one. She tried to placate me with a ‘I’ve been good at the Doctor’s’ sticker, but I wasn’t falling for that. Nor was a rice cake going to cut it, so I lobbed that. If you’re going to make a point, make it count, that’s my motto.
Next week Mummy and I are off to Norfolk to stay with Nana and Grandad for the week, then we’re going to see my cousin for her 3rd birthday. Different houses are brilliant, almost as brilliant as the whole swimming thing. I get to charge about and empty stuff on the floor, and generally be a little whirlwind. They love it, and they certainly seem to sleep better when I’m around.
Before we go though, Mummy and I are hosting a Macmillan coffee morning to raise money for people that do some very nice things for people who are very poorly. Lots of my buddies are coming, and Mummy’s on about making a virtually fat free mint choc chip cake that has a courgette in it. A courgette. Honestly, the stuff I have to put up with. Anyway, because I’m very cute and because it’s a good cause, you can donate here if you like. As a thank you, I shall try my very best to slap you on the head with a piece of Marmite-y bread next time I see you (you’re welcome).
2 thoughts on “A Bear’s tale”
Hi! Love this from the baby’s pov, great idea and very cute!
Thanks Emma! Glad you liked it. Wasn’t sure about it at first but it seems to have gone down well!