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Not me obviously, I say that on behalf of the small boy who has recently taken to grabbing frantically at anything within his surprisingly long reach. Not in an “I’m feeling curious” way though, it’s far more like a starving man shovelling food into his mouth, except it’s not just food, it’s hair, jewellery, body parts, toys, dog ears, tables, and mobile phones. All of which get dragged into the vortex of my son’s mouth with a quite baffling (and painful) show of force.

Current favourite is his dad’s nipple piecing. Now please feel free not to read on if you have images of us living a monastic life in separate beds with neck high bed clothes but the reality is, we don’t wear much in bed. In fact in the current weather, we wear as little as is possible without risking long term damage from razor sharp baby toenails. We also have quite thin curtains which let the morning sun wrap its glowing tendrils around us (can you see where this is going yet?) and which at certain times is at just the right angle to really bring out the delicate tones of anything metallic.

There is no spectator sport more amusing than watching you infant son reach determinedly for your sleeping husband’s nipple ring and give it a determined yank. I cannot even begin to translate the noise that comes out of his mouth, of the look on his face, mostly because I’m only aware of them for the merest of seconds before I’m helpless with laughter and oblivious to everything around me. I only know that this inevitably attracts unwanted attention to my own soft underbelly of weakness because my laughter is usually cut short by chubby little fingers wrapped in my hair.

Seriously do NOT show weakness around this kid, he is merciless.

He is also on the verge of crawling in a haphazard, malcoordinated kinda way which involves him jacking up his front and back ends a bit like a pimped up Caddy and then rocking with a determined look of someone screwing up the courage to dive off the top board at the swimming pool. Only problem is that is as far as the skills go at the moment, and his efforts (which actually remind me a bit of Capoeira) usually end up in him wailing because he has managed to crab and shuffle his way in the opposite direction to the thing he was trying to move towards.

We had got around the problem by putting him in his Bumbo, but unfortunately he has just worked out how to throw himself backwards with just enough force to flop clear with all the grace of a bludgeoned salmon. This new found skill did not end well for young Alfred who liberated himself clear onto the stone floor which, as stone floors usually are, was rather harder and colder than he was expecting.

Had I forgotten to mention? This kid also pouts for England, and has the same tolerance levels as I do. To his future teachers, let me save you some time writing his school report. Feel free to copy my 4th year primary school teacher and just summarise thusly:
Does not suffer fools gladly.
This also applies to spaghetti which he believes is sent to try him. I finally twigged last night that he was getting overwhelmed by the mess o’ spag and singled one out for him and all was right with the world after that.

Also, I have just found a new blog to follow of a lady who I think takes the most amazing birth photos. Check it out if you get time.

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