Biological warfare

“Ok it says here at five months Master Seven was pushing himself backward, making a ‘d’ sound and had one tooth,” I said, reading aloud to Learner Dad from the baby book.
“So Li’l Fatty’s not reaching his benchmarks then?” he asked.
He turned to our bub and, putting on his best baby voice, asked: “Are you fick? Are you fick?”
Li’l Fatty blew raspberries in response before letting loose with a very much toothless grin.
With different biological fathers, Learner Dad has been interested to see if Li’l Fatty will reach benchmarks before, at the same time, or after his older brother.
Now I’m not one of those bragging mums who likes to go on about how advanced her baby is (MasterSevencrawledatsevenmonthsandwalkedandmadeanimalnoisesbeforehewasone).
No, to me, it’s not important.
After all, one of my brothers lay flat on his back for 11 months and then turned out to be the athlete in the family.
But Master Seven’s ‘first year’ achievements have become fascinating to Learner Dad.
And by that night, his ‘five month’ achievements had taken on a life of their own.
“At Li’l Fatty’s age, Master Seven could crawl, say ‘dad’ and needed to see a dentist,” he blurted out to his own father, Poppy Cos.
Ok, I made the dentist bit up but he’d clearly exaggerated.
“No, it said he was pushing himself backward, making a ‘d’ sound and had a tooth,” I corrected him.
Either way, I was wary of Li’l Fatty’s progress.
Clearly big and strong, he’d been grizzling about the fact he couldn’t crawl for weeks.
He had the motivation and soon enough he’d have the ability.
“That coffee table will need to be cleared when he starts crawling,” I explained to Learner Dad one day, as he played with Li’l Fatty on the floor.
“We’ll need gates for the stairs, you’ll need to put the BBQ extension cord away, and cover up your Playstation and DVD player.”
I turned to Master Seven.
“Your toys will have to stay in your room. He’s been eyeing off the Wii remotes for weeks so you’ll need a new place for those. And for your school bag too. And no more leaving the toilet door open.”
I looked back to Learner Dad.
“Your tool box will need to go up on a higher shelf, we’ll need cupboard locks for the kitchen, we’ll definitely have to relocate the rubbish bin, and we may need to fence off the Christmas tree this year.”
Learner Dad looked at me.
Then went back to playing with Li’l Fatty.
And, as he held him aloft and gazed into his son’s eyes, I knew he wasn’t yet seeing what was right in front of him.
The eye of the storm.
The Li’l Hurricane.
Cyclone Fatty.
To be continued… (when he crawls)

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8 thoughts on “Biological warfare

  1. I’ve been reading your blogs and loving them from day one, but the part about learner Dad having a tool box would have to be one of the funniest things I’ve read yet 🙂

  2. I love ‘cyclone Fatty’, after a first child who seemed to innately know what was a bad idea my #2 – the ‘voluptuous hurricane’ (the child care ladies call her voluptuous) has left a raft of torn ‘flip the flap’ books, turned off parts of our tv system we didn’t know existed, climbed anything possible (2 chairs currently reside atop a bookshelf) and gnawed, slobbered or hidden everything else. We never needed a cupboard lock for #1, but even if we had them for #2 I’m pretty sure she’d have them sussed or door hinge in splinters in about 5min.

    • Seven years after my first Natalie I’m sure it’ll still shock me. Voluptuous Hurricane sounds hilarious – in name and in nature. I’ll be sure to highlight this comment to Learner Dad 🙂 PS Two chairs on top of a bookshelp, ha ha, insane! Not them, us!

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