Breakfast rules

Sarah: “Do you want toast or a bagel?”

Zach: “My want a bagel.”

Sarah: ‘OK.”

Zach: “What you having?”

Sarah: “I’m having toast.”

Zach: “Toast is a boring thing to have for breakfast, Mummy.”

Sarah: “Why?”

Zach: “Daddy said toast is boring for breakfast. Toast is BORING, Mummy.”

Modern terminology

Zach calls animated emoticons ‘stickers’, as in “my want to put another sticker on”. That is all.

Breakfast recognition

Zach, eating scrambled eggs: “this porridge tastes like yuck!”

Be careful what you wish for

I spent months on end encouraging Zach to talk. Sam has not stopped babbling for the last three weeks; the Plunket nurse insists she’s speaking like an 8-month-old baby instead of a 3-month-old one, and the Well Child book agrees. She literally tells us stories, complete with gesticulations and eye/eyebrow movements. It’s rather funny, but she hasn’t yet learned how to operate her volume control – we currently have the TV set to ‘pensioner’ volume and it’s still not enough.

As I say, not as I do, dammit

“My not want to go to kindy today. My tired.”

“Tired is not a reason, Zachary.”

(time, she passes)

“No, you can’t do that, Zach.”

“No is not a reason!”

I have trained him well

Tonight at dinner, Sam was sitting quietly in her rocker. Sarah had pulled the string on the clinky-clanky-make-soothing-noise toy, and all was well.

Zach poked his head up and looked around before stating “what’s that AWFUL noise?” He then clambered up and around his mother to peer at the offensive aural source; once he found it he pointed and declared “that stopped me from eating my dinner!”

It took Sarah quite some time to compose herself enough to attack her pork chop again.

There are only two options

  1. Either Sarah and I can’t follow simple instructions – say, how to measure an infant from head to foot, or
  2. Our daughter is freakishly tall.

Her length from tip to toe is 62cm, at seven-and-a-half weeks’ old. If you refer to either the NZ growth charts, or the somewhat less readable WHO ones, you will see that 62cm, even at a full two months’ age, is off the top of the freakin’ graphs, i.e. even higher than the 97th percentile measurement.

It is probably worth pointing out that I hate basketball.

Well, crap.

What do you get if you have a baby that doesn’t poo for five days?

You get the most unholy amount of liquefied crap ever seen in one location. Rapidly. Through the clothes, on the sofa. Through two cloth nappies. Everywhere, EVERYWHERE. It was like an explosion in a Crayola factory, assuming that the factory only makes one colour (orange) and had a large water tower on top of it.

Then she did it again.

She smiled at me today.

She may now be allowed to stay with us.

Straight in a home, as soon as he can legally do it

Sarah opened the hall cupboard today and somewhat perplexedly pulled out half an aeroplane, a hard hat, and a painted cardboard roll.

Upon being asked, Zach looked up and explained that “them were old”.

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