Edition 40: "Don't tell Mrs H....!"

Good Evening Negative Soundbyters! I am sitting at our kitchen table while Mrs H writes out “Thank-You” cards to those who were so generous in sending Rafe gifts to celebrate his birth. Rafe is chilling out in the “Sleepy Head Deluxe +”, although he seems unaware that the reason for putting him in the SDH+ is that he closes his eyes and sleeps…like it says on the tin. No Sir. Not Rafe. He prefers a bit of a kick-about; even a nice tight swaddle doesn’t seem to do the trick. One minute he’s wrapped up tighter than a sausage roll; next minute a ET-type hand appears below his chin and, just like a veritable baby Houdini, it is shortly followed by one arm and then the other – and my swaddle lies in a proverbial ruin!

We have tried to enlist the help of Euan, a sheep with big eyes and a perpetually surprised look on his face, to try and pacify our “spirited” baby. Euan plays the harp but is also able to replicate the sound of a heartbeat and other sounds that Rafe might have heard in the womb. The two of them stare at each other; Euan strumming at the harp strings for all he’s worth and Rafe gurgling away, arms and legs at right angles, eyes wide almost as if he is goading Euan. If the two of them could talk I doubt it would be a friendly conversation!

I spent a small part of the morning outside in my postage stamp-sized garden. I have cut out a rectangle – probably about three square metres – to see whether I can seed a lawn where the builder wreaked so much carnage in the months before. It is fair to say that I know nothing about seeding a lawn from scratch but I am giving it a go. I have even taken to YouTube for some tips; I am not sure that I have all the tools for this project, but what I lack in expertise I am making up for in sweat! I have shifted about 10-15cm of the top layer of soil and turned it. Next step is some topsoil; then “heel” down (trade vocab!), seed and fertilise. Sounds simple enough. And what’s the worst that can happen? Mrs H hasn’t even raised an eyebrow yet, so I must be on the right track. And if something green grows in due course – even if it’s a bit patchy – I’ll take that!

Anything of geopolitical significance to report?

The sabre rattling on the Korean peninsula continues. Kim Jong Ping Poo Ang Kung is detonating nukes left-right-and-centre – underground thankfully. I reckon he’s doing it just to rile the big, blonde gerbil across the sea. And boy is The Donald rising to the occasion. He’s talking big – on Twitter - about how he has warned the South Koreans about their talk of appeasement in the face of North Korean “aggression”. North Korea only understands “one thing” apparently. My hope is that they understand a bit more than that; fatherhood is challenging enough without having to factor in a nuclear holocaust as well. Both Rafe and Euan would be deeply unimpressed!

And onto this week’s anecdote we go…

Big Love to All.

Hoddy X

Rafe is just over a month old today. He is taking it in his stride with both his parents battling to keep up! Okay, Mrs H is better placed than me, but I am doing my best as “New-Dad” to ensure that when my son is in my care he manages to live to tell the tale. Thankfully he isn’t old enough yet to inform Mrs H of my mishaps, but no doubt had he been able there might have been a quiet word!

One such occasion was a few days ago when he and I had a bath together. Rafe loves the water. He does look a little dubious when I am managing proceedings but on-the-whole he genuinely appears to be having a good time. Mrs H was downstairs and I thought that I could climb into the bath holding Rafe and get us both comfortable before she came back up. I was just about lying in the water and about to position Rafe when he wriggled causing me to lose my grip of his body for a nano-second. He did a face plant (from about 2cm) onto my chest which was by this point submerged. I thought “F45k, he’s going to drown!” Panicked I quickly pulled him upright. While the colour had drained in my face, it had risen in his. He went a dark beetroot colour, spluttered and looked at me with absolute disdain, water dripping from his little eyelids. He was not happy. A speech bubble would have it as “New-Dad! Like what on earth are you playing at? If you can’t handle a simple bath then best you hand me back to the professional! I can’t have my zen-state ruined by some amateur!”

I was fully expecting the air raid siren and more than an arched eyebrow from Mrs H, but Rafe decided to have mercy on me; he returned to his normal pinkish self and instructed me to return him to the shallows for a light soaping down and the opportunity to float on his back and look up at the ceiling, which has nothing on it but which he finds most intriguing.

My relationship with him develops by the day; when I am not drowning him that is. He has even started to mimic some of my expressions. We spent the afternoon on the couch together; I would open my mouth in an “O-shape” and then he would open his mouth in a shape that for him best resembled mine. I bet he was probably thinking “Like what does New-Dad think he is doing? And why does he keep kissing me? I am a hunk of African beef (with some English mustard) not some chick!”

But until he can articulate those sentiments in words I am going to keep kissing his face; because before I know it, it will be handshakes!

OUT :)

Pic of the Week

Euan you're dead to me!