Dom is especially keen on getting the right number of fingers into his pictures. Legs - not so bothered.
March 2007 Archives
An email flickrmail conversation presented for your amusement -
Continue reading Each had a wooden horse.
Helen was retelling the story of how she was hit'n'run by a car whilst on her pushbike as a child in York, the driver never to be found.
Dominic gave it some consideration, then responded in the most serious tone available to a three year old,
I will find him one day Mummy.
So Dominic isn't alone in loving a sing-song - like most kids his age he knows all the words to Bob the Builder, Postman Pat, the Barney song, every nursery rhyme you can think of (and a few you can't) but he doesn't stop there. Dominic's taste is a little more eclectic, largely (but admittedly not exclusively) thanks to the efforts of his Aunty Jobley. Hence we have probably best forgotten early 90s hits, West Country classics and supporters songs. Enjoy.
Yesterday, Helen tried Tilly with her first 'solid' (i.e. non milk) food and things went pretty well. Her reaction could be pretty much summed up as erring on the slightly interested side of nonplussed which is a step up from Dom's abject horror of a non-milk diet and constant reproachful looks for trying to use a spoon.
Aside from that, Matilda is trying to besmirch her own 'perfect baby' good name by steadfastly refusing to be anything else other than breastfed. We've spent a small fortune on various teats and sippy cups, but she is yet to be persuaded that milk by this different route is by any means an acceptable substitute. Such is the ruckus she raises that we're loathe to leave her with anyone else, and even in my most hard-hearted guise (headphones on, trying to ignore her crying herself to sleep) a few hours of babysitting the pint-sized gastronome inevitably sends the blood pressure skywards. Our next step, in lieu of a better suggestion, is the bottle-or-nothing for 24 hours tactic as recommended by several of the more Victorian baby-help manuals. We've not yet decided when we'll be attempting the infant Guantanamo but my advice would be to steer clear of us whenever it is or run the risk of reaping the super grumpy whirlwind. Bring on the Jehovah's Witnesses.
On top of that, my littlest friend has caught Helen's cold and wiped enough of the resultant snot into her eyes to contract the traditional conjunctivitis. Nevertheless, good times.
Sitting at the dinner table, apropos of nothing, Dominic was hit by a revelation
I've had a good idea, why don't I be a good boy all the time!
If only.
