George's wonder week

We've had a bit of a wow week this week from the goblin. I guess in some ways I should have been prepared for it. George is seven months old and spends his time split between two activities : crawling and pulling himself up on things. He's not yet moved onto cruising, though to be fair he had a good go at moving up and down the ledge at soft play today, but that hasn't stopped him from filling this week with firsts.
On Monday he started waving. It's still a bit sporadic but walk into the room and give him a big hello and you will more often than not be greeted with a flapping arm from the smiling boy. A woman flaps her arms any she gets told off for being in a tizz, a baby does it and we jump up and down in celebration.
On Wednesday he cut his first tooth. Bottom front left. I'd said to Mark and few days earlier when George was being particularly grizzly (for him) that we should no doubt expect a tooth in a few weeks time. Well I was almost right, just got my time management wrong, which won't surprise anyone who knows me well.
On Thursday George started clapping - sort off. He had two toys from his shape sorter in his hand and was banging them together wildly and looked pleased as punch with himself. Alby and I held a bit of conference, decided it was clapping and so begun another round of George praise.
And if clapping wasn't enough, to top off a busy week, Thursday also marks the day he started saying "da da". Or more precisely "da da da da da da da da da da". He came out with "mumumum" twice about ten days ago but never again. Da da meanwhile was said non stop for a whole afternoon and has been repeated at least a hundred times since. On Saturday morning we got a "p p p" from him too. Percy bullhound is no doubt thrilled.
All this growing does come at a cost. The little goblin is currently sleeping in my arms having woken, screaming, 45 minutes after his previous crying episode. I wouldn't describe him as s big crier but he is definitely louder than I remember Alby bring and it seems to come from nowhere which is particularly unpleasant when it happens in the middle of the night waking you up in a confused panic trying to work out who is being tortured (George claims its him but his two sleep robbed parents have chosen to interpret things slightly differently). The cries are horrible but as I sit here with my babe in my arms I can't help feeling a little smug. There are few things so wonderful as being able to rock your baby to sleep, few things that feel so good as being able to all a crying child. To know that your love helped chase away the tears. The screams are horrible but thankfully parenting us never a one way street and in our home, thank god, I'm pretty sure the smiles and huggles outweigh the screams and tears.

Colour blind no more

I remember an anti-racism poster when I was younger which featured a row of babies of all different ethnicities lying together and the caption suggesting that it was only amongst these tiny babies that colour blindness really exists.
The advert obviously resonated with me and whilst I hope never to be seen or thought of as a racist In any way, shape or form, I won't claim that I don't see colour. The society I grew up in, albeit cosmopolitan and international was still one where the colour of your skin was an identifier.
I've often looked at Alby over the past few years with admiration for how lovely it must be to be truly colour blind. To refer to people by how fast they run, how many dragons they can fight, how polite they are or how quickly they eat rather than turning to skin colour to describe a friend. (I won't pretend Alby's rural English nursery offers the variety of backgrounds found in London but it's not a total sea of white thank goodness.)
But now those days are gone. For the past few days Alby has made random comments about the colour of people's skin. No embarrassing stories to report of inappropriate comments in the supermarket or anything but a few words here of there that show my little man is no longer as innocent as the babies in the poster.  "Our cousins have the same skin colour as us."  "Why in the olden days were all English people white?"
Obviously having studied anthropology at university I am well equipped to tackle such questions and statements perfectly! Yeah right. Sadly I stumble through my answers most of the time wishing that my words will return me to a racially blind bliss and fearing that in some unintended way they will actually do the opposite (who knows where a conversation with a toddler will take you). Whatever the outcome will be it turns out that by 4 years old you no longer qualify for the poster. Maybe I should be impressed. Perhaps  two hundred years ago not even those poster babies would have been coloured blind. I don't know. But I can't say I'm not a little saddened that the innocence on that one has started to go. I know I can't turn back time but how I wish I could, for all of us on this one.

Four years of The Bug

Yesterday my little man turned four. Gone are the days of being "three and three quarters" he is now four and bloomin' proud of it. Bless him and his cotton socks. Or more accurately bless him and his bare feet.
He's had a good birthday and it's not over with yet. The celebrations started on Friday with the Halloween party at nursery. On his actual birthday he woke to a house of decorations, Frosties for breakfast (something he's been looking forward to since August) and a good selection of new toys (with prize for best gift going to Auntie Katie for her formula one remote controlled car). The morning dog walk past Tesco included a free face painting (green monster) and then he headed off with daddy to a friend's party. Next stop a quick costume change and out for his first ever trick or treating outing where our neighbours did us good. Plenty of pumpkins and fellow trick or treaters out and about reminding us we do live in a community and a friendly community at that. Conscious of how quickly his bucket filled up with sweets we had to bypass a number of houses for fear of ending up with two years worth of lollipops and candies.
Back home to bed and more celebrations today with Alby's grandparents coming over for Sunday lunch (fish pie at Alby's request) and a misty walk up the hill. As it turns out being four is really hard work and the little man crashed out on the sofa after lunch only being roused by promise of birthday ice cream - soft scoop vanilla in a cone with smarties and a candle in the middle.
Alby went in the back pouch for the first part of the walk and I carried him. It's been a long time since I last carried him for that long and up hill and my goodness he has grown. My thighs were killing. Thankfully his legs had energy again for the flat and downhill parts and once a suitable stick was found the ninja boy was off and away.
Next week we've got his birthday party and so the fun continues as it should do - he's an awesome little fella. Yes he has his moments but they are usually down to my mummy fails than him (a hard truth but a truth nonetheless and something I need to remember each day). He is a good kid, a great kid,  and celebrating the moment that the world changed from not having Alby in it to having Alby in it seems obvious. I love him. All four years of him.

Happy birthday my Halloween hug bubble