As you know I’ve mentioned loads about bath time. It’s that
quality time when I get to scrape Bolognese Sauce from our daughters face, become adept at timing the removal of a nappy precisely so LP doesn’t code brown on
the floor (having given up on bathroom rugs) and sing to my heart's content
knowing that it’s between me, LP……and the baby monitor.
You would imagine that neither LP or I would be able to
derive any more excitement from bath time. Indeed, I have often thought I had
heard Scotty from Star Trek proclaim “But Captain she canna take it. She’s
gonna explode if she has any more fun”. Gentle Reader, wait for it… wait for
it…LP has now learned to stand up in the bath!!!!!! OK, so you're not over excited by this? Allow me to paint you a picture, an oily painting, if you will. LP’s bath times have, if I am totally honest, been missing something. Bubbles! LP’s had a wee bit of dry skin and, as a precautionary measure, she was prescribed many lotions and potions by her Quack (so called because LP likes Duck’s and is not too sure of Doctor’s yet). Half a cap full of said lotions/ potion made LP as slippery as a bar of soap in a prison shower… if you will excuse the analogy, and therefore impossible grasp or indeed to wash as said lotion appeared to build up an impervious membrane which prevented the thorough removal of tomato sauce or carrot based foodstuffs from her skin. Shame really. This orange glow, which illuminated her little face gave her a look of criminal genius akin to The Joker. This was very apt as, since the day LP was delivered by the Stork, she has been brought up in the knowledge that I’m Batman.
Anyhoo, our now once
slippery offspring is no longer, um, slippery as, due to the wonders of
nature appears to have grown out of flaky stage all by herself and perhaps with
a little assistance of the lotions and potions. This now means that LP is no
longer trapped in the bath, totally dependent on her Daddy (or YM at weekends,
holiday’s and Bar Mitzva’s and in times of my near terminal episodes of sinusitis
preventing me from attending to my duties) to scoop her up and wrap her in a
fluffy towel to the local manta of “ehm gonna wrap you up like eh Sasaj roll”.
LP now asserts her independence by standing up in the bath as soon as she gets
bored with playing with her seven Rubber Ducks and Daddy’s renditions of Itsy
Bitsy Spider and Wee Willie Winkie (who’s internal clock seems to readily
change between 6 and 7 pm of an evening).
Truth be told, our newly vertical bath time LP poses a few more problems
than she does solutions at the moment.
Number One being that I can actually see her peeing in the
bath water rather than just assuming she does do this anyway and declines to tell me. Number Two…. No! Let's move on quickly from Number Two’s, save to say that they are more concerning than the aforementioned Number One’s.
Number Three: Normally I have the height advantage over LP. Hopefully this will continue on for the next 20 years or at least until I succumb to Oestioperosis. It has to be said that, as far as height goes, baths are a great leveller. Hunkered down on the floor bathing LP once meant that we were at the same height and therefore, both armed with water pistols we found our relationship devoid of any power imbalance. Sadly LP’s decision to stand has meant that she easily towers over her Daddy and takes every opportunity to soak me.
This became abundantly clear during hair washing time. Yes, Yes LP does have her hair washed. Faithful Readers will be aware that I have, on occasion, all be it semi unintentionally, ingested baby shampoo, this is a thing of the past and I have learned my lesson. As LP is now totally declining to be fed, even if I do make the sound of an airplane stalling midair during a WW1 Dogfight in an attempt to get yogurt into her, she continuously gets the majority of her tea entwined in her golden locks. It would clearly not be financially prudent, or medically prudent for that matter for me to continue to drink baby shampoo when LP’s follicles could utilise it far more appropriate. With some inevitability and with a glint in LP’s eye, at the moment when I am about to rinse the shampoo off of my daughters golden tresses she will take a step forward and direct the water out of the bath and over me. Much to the delight of LP and to my soggy distress.
Anyways… time to move on to the tale of the second duck. LP loves ducks. She has many ducks. We have a duck print shower curtain, bowl’s, cute ducks on clothing and a duck pushy thing which plays the same tune over and over and over and over again until I want to come downstairs in the middle of the night and attack it with a hatchet, chopping it into little tiny shards of yellow plastic until it stops….please make it stop….please. Oh, did I tell you YM, LP and I have a few ducks. This in itself is odd as certain members of our family have a poor history with ducks. Many moon’s ago, before LP was a twinkle in the Storks eye, YM and I would while away the days taking the Hound for long walks in the country whilst our wee puppy would run about as if YM had slipped Amphetamine into her Pedigree Chum doggie food. On one of these occasions, as YM and I strolled in the Spring sunshine, the Hound thought it would be a sufficiently good idea to check out the duck pond. As many of you will be aware, the Hound’s obedience training did not go well. Suffice to say that the only rosette she ever won was for having the wagliest tail at puppy training class. It was the kind of award that gets handed out the “special” puppies in an attempt to make them feel included. YM and I were so proud of that Rosette, in fact I believe YM cried with pride when it was awarded. Sadly the unpleasantness that ensued traumatised two young children, left a father having to gently explain the “circle of life” with some emphasis on the fact that there is no such thing as immortality, oh and a dead duck. The latter becoming very much apparent to the adults and children who watched in horror as a male Mallard Duck sunk quickly and without trace having been broadsided by our over exuberant Hound.
Anyhoo…. Gentle Reader, I am sure I can hear you say Get to
the@&%$£&%$ (you counted them trying to spell the expletive didn’t you?)
point. OK, the point is that LP, YM and I have developed a new game. Having
undertaken a wee bit of research into such things, I discovered that a child increases
their vocabulary by hearing words said repetitively. The literature states that
“repetitive” is defined as over 500 times. Sooooo, realising that I couldn’t
ask LP to go get me a “No” or a “code brown” or indeed a “God No!!! Don’t chew
that cable, you’ll blow us all up”. I settled for “LP can you please fetch me a
Duck?”. Never before have I been so enthralled by our wee girl and the speed at
which she is developing. As soon as I asked LP for a duck she stopped what she
was doing (having a mini meltdown) and set about looking for a duck. At the
time I was really quite unsure of this as she randomly ran about the living room
and then lay on the carpet and stuck an arm underneath the settee to retrieve her
first duck. She grasped the wee duck in a wee hand and then went over to her
toy box. A few seconds later and she had added another duck to her collection.
LP then waddled over to me, with outreached arms and a huge smile on her face
and presented me with both duck’s. I was, and continue to be totally impressed
by this. I guess I should at this point apologise to my work colleagues who
must have been totally skunnered (fed up) with hearing me prattle on about LP’s
duck related shenanigans. I do have to thank one of my colleagues who suggested
that I should in future years say to LP “Bring me my tea please” as I have more
chance of that happening that YM doing so
(Sorry YM :-))))
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