Today Devilette had her 4 month immunisations. This in itself is not an event of great note.
However, it was our first visit with a lovely new lady doctor who I shall henceforth refer to, with great affection, as Dr. Vague.
As per usual with Dr’s and babies, we had to answer all the standard questions about how we were coping, if we had enough support, how she was feeding, sleeping, pooping, etc…. and then came one which I haven’t, in several years of being a parent, heard before.
“Does she smoke inside the house?”
“Umm No”, was my shocked and smugly pious answer. “It’s a filthy habit. We always make her go outside to smoke. And don’t get me started on her drinking!!??”
Good thing I was thinking on my feet there… I mean, could you imagine the ramifications if I gave the wrong answer? I’d hate for anyone to think I was an irresponsible parent.
But as I left, screaming newly immunised baby in tow, I couldn’t help asking a question of my own.
“Does Dr Vague smoke inside the house? And if the answer is yes, what exactly is it that she’s smoking?”
At 4am this morning I was woken in my marital bed by something hard and pointy poking into my back.
And, NO it’s not what you’re thinking, you saucy minxes.
In fact, It was a viking helmet. And by viking helmet, I actually mean a viking helmet, and a three foot sword. Both attached to a very awake Devilboy who desperately needed to tell me extremely urgent news that couldn’t possibly wait until daytime.
“Mama, I’m a magic viking!”
“But, it’s the middle of the night!” I growled (having just fallen back to sleep after being exuberantly roused by Devilette for the seventeenth time).
“Yes I know mama, that’s the magic part!”
Thought for the day:
“Poo cannot dance because it does not have feet. Wee does not have feet either. But, a train poo goes along the track. Interesting.”
Taken from A Postmodern Manifesto – The Collected Works of Devilboy – abridged version.
Genius really. Move over Heidegger, there’s a new philosopher in town.
”Mama, I don’t like Wiggle Bix, can I have Corn Flames for breakfast?”
Sure honey, once I work out what in the name of fuck a Wiggle Bix actually is and find time to call Kellogs to ask when and where they plan on launching their first chilli flavoured breakfast cereal.
Alternately, you could eat some toast.
Dad of Devilboy: “Did you have fun with mummy today?”
Devilboy: “Actually, we killed Zombies with lasers.”
I think my husband may now be quite concerned with my parenting skills.
My darling Devilette is quite the Devilboy doppelganger.
Here she does a stirling impersonation of her brother as a baby. 🙂
She’s definitely got the same looks, but here’s hoping she a tad less insane.
Most boys ask for a pet dog at some point in their life. Not Devilboy.
He has requested a pet dragon.
“A black flying dragon. That I can ride in the sky. With Fire. And nice, not mean. From the dragon shop.”
Well duh, where else would you purchase a dragon? I’m sure the local Westfield has several.
Jeez, I just hope they haven’t sold out.
Devilboy has a new piano, and by piano I mean piece of plastic crap that has a keyboard and makes a lot of noise, and has been busily churning out some sensational new compositions of his own this evening.
Standout lyrics include;
“I love you daddy and that’s just the way it is!”
“Mummy is my best friend except for Finny who is really my best friend.”
And my personal favourite,
“Baby sister, baby sister, you cry a lot… can I lick you?”
Top 40 here he comes.
Devilboy has embraced big brotherhood with great enthusiasm. And, while we’re thrilled that there’s been no jealously or resentment and that he loves his baby sister “bigger than a really tall jump” (which is, in Devilboy world, a lot!) we aren’t entirely without concerns, though they’re not ones addressed in any parenting books I’ve stumbled across.
You see, given my little man’s huge appetite – a thing of perplexing enormity that is inversely proportional to his lanky little body – I’m a tad worried that he might find our delicious little bundle of joy just a touch too tasty.
He frets when she cries, as babies are want to do with great frequency, and to end the tears proffers such sage parenting advice as “sprinkling her with cheese” as mentioned in the previous post. An interesting idea, I admit, but one I think is doomed to near certain failure.
Another hint of his carnivorous leanings came with his suggestion that we “put some bread in her bassinet” to mop up the tears, perhaps something commonly done by parents in a parallel universe I’ve not yet visited, but something that I must confess hadn’t occurred to me two kids in to this whole parenting malarkey.
But it is with Devilboy’s latest line of questioning, during a pleasant family breakfast, that the fear our beloved firstborn is actually a flesh-eating zombie seems truly founded and I am fraught with worry that my beautiful Devilette is going to get eaten by the end of the day.
“Mummy, what does a baby sister taste like?”
If he asks for some fava beans and a bottle of Chianti, we’re outta here.
Devilette cried a fair bit today… as four week old bubs tend to do. A concerned Devilboy insists it’s because she has a tummy ache. And he has the solution!
“I’m going to sprinkle her with cheese”
Of course you are.