Tuesday, August 26, 2008

The Night is Darkest


The Noodle is progressing on his way to being a little boy. Pretty sure he's still a toddler, but the signs are there. Some signs are positive, and some of 'em ain't so pretty.

He told his first lie the other day, little Machiavelli that he is. I heard the thump, thump of him jumping on our bed - which he is fully aware is against the rules - and burst into the room to catch him in full flight.

I suppose I'll interject here that I jumped on my bed all the time when I was little. Bloody great fun it was; and I don't really expect him to not jump on them and I certainly don't believe his thirteen kilo frame will do irreparable damage to a queen size bed. It's just that the battle lines have been drawn and we find ourselves on different sides of them. His job is to jump on the bed and avoid punishment, mine is to catch him and mete out the punishment. It's a learning curve for both of us.

Anyway, a quick recap: thump, thump, Elliot Ness impression, aha etc.

'Were you jumping on the bed?'

Silence. He looked wildly about, a furtive expression crept weasel like across his rosy cheeks.

'No, I wasn't jump on bed.'

'Oooh you little bugg...bear.'

'Cuddle Daddy?' he said with arms outstretched and pats of unmelted butter spilling down his chin.

It was funny, but surprising, because all our child cursed friends have been telling us how their progeny are incapable of speaking with forked tongue until, well I'm not sure what age, but older than two anyway. I'll be the besotted parent and chalk it up to a lively imagination and quick wit rather than a heart of pure evil; at this stage.

Although we have decided he can't watch the news anymore after his chants of 'kill, kill, kill' during the report of a murder last night.

My great fear is toilet training. Yes I'm bloody sick of cleaning up other's poo. But nappies provide a measure of control as to where and when the cleaning takes place. Ideally it doesn't take place in supermarket aisles, roadsides or anywhere else far from home when you're down to your last change of the child's clothes. Nappies provide a measure of control that I am loathe to lose, even if the rewards are ultimately there.

We've got a way to go yet before we seriously start it, maybe science will give us toilet training in a pill by then? I wonder how you would administer it?

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4 Comments:

At August 27, 2008 at 12:09 AM , Blogger franzy said...

Then of course there's the punishment he will mete out upon you for posting a photo of him taking a proud dump on the interweb ...

"Sure, Dad! We'll come and pick you up in a couple of days. In the mean time, why don't you watch some day time TV - Oh! Lunch is served! It's boiled vegetables!"

 
At August 27, 2008 at 12:24 PM , Blogger Kath Lockett said...

His first expression is priceless and Franzy's right - it is YOU that will end up paying for it in the end.

And if shovelling shit ain't your bag, you do realise that young Patrick Marcus is going to be unconsciously producing his share of it for at least another three years, don't you?

 
At August 27, 2008 at 12:25 PM , Blogger Kath Lockett said...

Oh and, as I've already said to Fabulous Franzicle, check out this guy, Miles, from Tassie.

No, he's no relative of mine and was found via a 'looking for inspiration' surf : http://junginasheepskin.blogspot.com/

 
At August 31, 2008 at 10:19 PM , Blogger myninjacockle said...

Franzy - Ha, I'll foil his attempts to put me in a nursing home by staying at work until I die. Plus that's the only way we'll ever pay the house off.

Kath - thanks, I feel much better about it now...and Miles is very funny, almost too funny. I don't know what I mean by that.

 

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