I’m just support staff.

Below is the chart showing the number of new words learned (ie: he says them in context rather than just repeating us). The two dips in february and april were courtesy of illness. Grommets, ear-infections, gastro, viruses…..i’m beyond blogging about it because it just seems to be such a frequent occurrence..

Hamish's Words Learned (By Month)

As much as we’d love to give him some nappy-free time, the fountain of funk coming from his arse is a pretty good reason not to.

What was meant to be the last public holiday of the Easter/ANZAC long weekend was spent chasing down doctors, pharmacists and the tiwttersphere for help/advice.

He’s at an age where talking is become more fashionable, so he babbles. And although to us he’s just blabbing garbage, to him those words have meaning and he believes he’s using them in context. Over time i’m working out what rambles equate to actions he’d like performed, but in the 6 month period until he’s better able to communicate, I’m left hanging..

All I need is a baby translator like Herb Powell’s:

He’s only 18 months old, but i’m blown away by just how independent he is. He speaks close to 40 words, now. He knows when we’re going to work (and he to day-care), and runs to the door in anticipation each morning. Walking out of our (soon to be ex) house, he walks up to sewer grates, bends over to peer into the abyss and calls out to…..whoever…Once done with his chat, he holds onto the railings and walks himself down a flight of 10 stairs, without tripping up. He knows when his mum and dad are unhappy, and runs to our rescue when we need it, and who could resist the opportunity to ask for (and receive) a kiss on the cheek. If he does something wrong and gets told off, he knows the face to pull which melts his mummy’s heart and makes my stone cold heart go luke-warm, invariably resulting in him being hugged and consoled; Master Manipulator.

The tires of working the equivalent of two to three jobs means that he just grew up from under my nose when I wasn’t watching. I justify it to myself because he deserves more than what we can currently offer him, and so working this hard isn’t much of a sacrifice in order for him to have a big backyard where we’d play cricket on weekends.

He’s still young yet, but i feel like even if i quit all my jobs and spent 24×7 with him i’d still miss him grow up. It’s a lose-win situation, but as long as he’s winning I can live with it.

Sitting your child on your lap, placing a breathing mask over his face, have him fight you and cry every step along the way, and then watching his eyes glaze over and body go limp. It’s a fairly difficult situation in which to keep your composure together. In the time i’ve known the Rat, his body has always been anything BUT limp. Never had that experience that before, and i don’t look forward to it again.

Still, in the time it took to walk Rat’s mum up to the local coffee place and back, it was all over and he was crying.
Tears of pain, yep no doubt.
Tears of relief, certainly. (you see he had an abscess in each inner-ear behind the ear drum causing pain – surgery popped them and relieved that back-pressure).
Tears of fear because we weren’t there when he woke up, yeah but there’s nothing we could have done about it. It was over and done in 10 mins.
Tears, tears, tears and a grumpy little man all day

The next day, the page turned, the chapter was re-written, the engine was re-oiled (insert a metaphor of your choosing in here). He was happy to be awake. Happy to run around and play. Just happy. Albeit a little leaky and crusty around the ears from all the seepage, but happy nonetheless.

Little Rat seems to have recently developed fondness for his dad, and he shows this fondness almost every single time he gets an opportunity. This isn’t really an issue because I can play it to my advantage by teasing his mother – “He loves me more than he loves you” is what I’d be saying if I had the balls.

Occasionally, however, the plan seems to backfire on me. This happens every time I’m about to walk out the door to go to work and he burst into tears hysterically crying “dada dada dada dada dada dada dada”

Seriously, tell me how the hell are you expected to function properly when you get that kind of treatment?

Needless to say, the Son of Satan has his moments. At 16 months of age he’s fully mobile, and not afraid to show it.
He’s brave in exploration, and not afraid to show it.
He’s growing sharp teeth, and not afraid to show it.
He knows 20-25 words, and not afraid to show it
He’s cheeky as a rat, and not afraid to show it.

You get the picture.

What’s sad about the last couple of months (say 6) is that he’s suffered numerous eardrum perforations, leading to the medical opinion that he needs to get grommets. All advice we’ve received from professionals in the medical industry and in the audiological industry (yes we’re connected) indicate that this is a good decision for him, but you never want to unnecessarily put someone so small through surgery (albeit minor) so early. And most importantly who wants to have to battle against this face when putting Blu-Tac in his ears:

Well it seems that in the last few days he’s taken a particular interest in talking and mimicking those around him.

Example 1: No more monkeys jumping on the bed!

There’s a nursery rhyme we sing to him when he comes into our bed. It goes something like “3 cheeky monkeys jumping on the bed, 1 fell off and hit his head, mummy called the doctor and the doctor said, NO MORE MONKEYS JUMPING ON THE BED!”….and when you sing the last line, you animatedly wave your finger in disapprovement. Well a few days ago he started waving his finger too! Just randomly when we did, he’d join in and start telling us off for jumping on the bed. To cap it off, earlier tonight we were singing the song and he decided to join in by saying “NO MORE”…well it sounded more like “na moa”, but it was pretty obvious that’s what he was trying to sing.

Example 2: uh ohhhh

This afternoon, he was lucky enough to have a visit paid to him by his Nanna, who stayed to play with the building blocks and create a few structures. When he knocked down the structure, he’d say “uh ohhhhh” and motion his arms as if to say “i cant for the life of me understand why *that* happened”. Fortunately, my life was able to capture this on video:

Example 3: Wheres your head?

And in the last couple of weeks, my bride-that-was insisted that he understands the phrase “Where’s your head?”, and clamps his hands against his head as though the skull were to explode at any moment. I didn’t believe it until I saw it the other day for myself and indeed she is correct.

Summary

So, (if i can remember them all) I plan to document every phrase/action we believe he understands, or repsonds to, in context

• Mumma
• Dadda
• No
• More
• Ta
• No more (monkeys jumping on the bed)
• Mine (apparently he said this at daycare)
• *Shakes head* to indicate No or the negative
• Can I have a kiss/kissy
• Where’s your head
• Dog (pointing to the mutt)

Thats all I can think of for now. Will be useful to come back and reference this in 20 years or so. I hope i’m driving a better car by then. Stupid Madge.

In that time, The Rat-Man has further developed his attachment to his mummy. So much so, that the sight of her walking out of the room is often enough to trigger a separation cry. No amount of “there, there” and belly rubbing seems to ebb his emotion, either. There are only two things that can snap beefcake out from his crying, and that’s Wiggle Bay and Peekaboo Barn. I’ve plugged my Wiggly friends a number of times already, so let me just talk quickly about Peekaboo barn.

UN-FUCKING-REAL.

This cheap-as-shit app seems to snap him the hell out from whatever it is he’s crying about and focus on the device playing the game. From the moment the little girl’s voice eerily sings “peek-a-boo barrrrrrn” like something from The Poltergeist, he’s just transfixed on the game, knowing when to touch the screen to move onto the next stage, and getting excited when the game is over because it means we can start again.

Best $2.19 i’ve ever spent.