Edition 81: "Baby Soup"

Good evening Negative Soundbyters! It’s been a scorching couple of weeks hasn’t it? We arrived home from Spain on Saturday to a complaint not often heard on these shores: “It’s too hot.” Londoners aren’t really geared up for hot weather; my neighbour very kindly offered me a dip in his paddling pool which while not quite the 10 metre by 2 metre stretch of blue expanse we had left behind in the grounds of our stone villa, had a certain attraction.

We have resorted to a fan or rather we have installed a portable fan in Rafey’s room to give him some respite from the clammy climes. It’s difficult to tell whether he finds the movement of air a blessing or an irritation. I am tending to the former because he made a few gurgling noises at around four o’clock the other morning; I sprang (correction: dragged) myself out of bed to make sure everything was dish-and-dandy only to find him sitting up with his back to the breeze – as if he was just cooling himself down before that final two hour stretch into boob-o-clock at around six. I crept back out – who am I to disturb a baby “sunning” himself.

We had a fantastic time in Spain. It was our first family holiday together just the three of us and it went off without a hitch – sort of. As I described in Edition 80 I had slight issue with the villa safe in that I managed to set the code and hence lock it but when it came to unlocking it, it wouldn’t budge. Thankfully the safe had a manual key override and I did what I believed to be the perfectly logical thing – call the villa rental company and ask them to send Pedro over with the key – which I did.

A few days pass and it’s getting close to departure time and still no sign of Pedro. We aren’t that concerned because in Spain everything is “mañana”, “mañana” (“not today”) but eventually Mrs H had to get on the blower to explain that we could not leave the country without our passports which were locked in the safe. Mrs H is able to convey a very formidable arched eyebrow across telephony and no sooner had she put the phone down than Pedro arrived with the key. Er…..no he didn’t…it might have been made from the same raw material but Pedro had a different approach in mind. It’s called the “hammer-and-chisel”.

Pedro was not an insubstantial individual and while I did not doubt that he could pack a punch I did question the viability of his approach – in my head. “Five minutes” he said and disappeared into our bedroom where the safe was located. Pedro beat that safe to within an inch of its man-made life. You would have been mistaken for thinking that he was creating a new doorway out onto the patio such was the crashing-and-bashing, but while it took more like 15 minutes in the end, Pedro appeared with a triumphant expression on his face and three passports clutched in a giant hand. (At the five minute mark he did appear to explain it was taking longer than he had envisaged – I was like…”um…ja….because it’s a safe”...once again in my head.) It was not subtle – the key would have been less of a bother – but Pedro got the job done!

Speaking of jobs well done, the Three Lions are a win away from a World Cup Final! I will be shouting for them on Wednesday. Come on England!

And on that happy note let’s move on.

Big Love
Hoddy XX

Baby Soup.

Rafe is on the cusp of his first birthday along with all the other babas in our NCT Group. The Mums thought it an excellent idea to arrange a collective first birthday to celebrate but also to recognise that the parents had survived the first year, sleep deprived, but relatively unscathed!

Rafe settled into the afternoon’s festivities by having a nap. I settled into the afternoon’s festivities by pouring myself a very long gin-and-tonic and watching where I put my feet. Some of these babies are seriously fleet-of-foot. One minute you have an open expanse of grass; next minute there are some jumbles-of-joy chortling away as they cut you off at the pass. Rafe crawls very deliberately; I liken his action to a Komodo dragon (exchange the flicking tongue for drool) – he does not appear in a hurry – whereas some of the other babas are like Speedy-Gonzales; hands and knees working in perfect unison as they seek out that next object to grab.

Some are even experimenting with ambulation albeit assisted for the most part. One little tyke pushed a toy trolley with such exuberance that she disappeared into the nether regions of the garden with her father in desperate pursuit. She hadn’t yet worked out how to turn! But what did she care – details for another day!

Rafe awoke from his slumber and Mrs H positioned him on a mat under the shade cloth. He is a bit bigger than the other bubs but size doesn’t matter any at that age; usually it’s the smallest baba that gives his ear a tug (in the mistaken belief that it is something she can eat) or tries to pilfer the toy he might be chewing at the time. That’s the lore of baby jungle – you take what you want unless your parents catch you and prise it from your grasp!

The parents, while keeping a watchful eye on their offspring, were able to catch up with a beer or fizz in one hand and some beautifully barbequed meat in the other. If there is ever going to be the baby equivalent of a “safe space” it’s at a celebration like this where the Mums and Dads could regale each other freely with anecdotes about their tiny tots without feeling like “is he secretly rolling his eyes when I talk about Rafey’s latest crawling episode” or “is she sighing deeply inside when I talk about Jasper’s feats in the swimming pool”. I only heard mention of the World Cup once, but by that point I was deep into my third gin-and-tonic and focusing on ensuring that Rafe didn’t steamroll one of the bubs when he decided to mobilise.

It was a joyous occasion and I think special mention should be made of the Mums who have been in the trenches knee deep in all sorts of proverbial mud at times, but who have managed to maintain their sanity and sense of humour and navigate these sparkling little dynamos through their first year almost intact! The Dads, well, we have had our uses – whether we have added value at every juncture is debatable – but we all share one thing in common: a very deep and special love for our little babas!

SALUTE :)

Pic of the Week

Croutons anybody?