Teething – Stocks Limited, Get Your’s Today

Oh man, teething… how cool is that? I mean, everybody tells you about it, but they forget to tell you just how absolute fun, it can be!

Let’s play Baby Chefs. Where I’m an aspiring chef preparing you a lovely meal and you can be Gordon Ramsay, telling me it’s all sh*t, you’re having none of it and send it ALL back to the kitchen.

Like guessing games? Okay…which cheek is redder?

Or, the perennial favourite…throw up in a public place? The fun never stops!

And productive, my god…totally!

It’s great for your health. Forget aerobics, patooey to pilates, scrap the stairmaster and throw away your old exercise machine forever. Who needs a gym membership when you’ve got, teething!

It’s great for your heart rate and what an amazing aerobic workout, just by getting up maybe, 60-70 times a night! It’s great for your self confidence because you pass the point where you give a damn what anybody else thinks of you, and stress…wow, you look thinner already! Just from lack of sleep and not eating properly! And don’t worry about those love handles, the bags under your eyes and furrows in your brow totally distracts anyone’s eye from looking at those unsightly bulges.

And teething is fantastic at giving you time back with your family. No more unruly dinner parties or bothersome get togethers with friends you really, really like. Nothing helps clear your schedule faster and easier than teething. But don’t take my word for it, listen to our satisfied customers…

Mumma: “I really love snuggling up in bed with my husband, but thanks to ‘teething’, I can now enjoy the whole bed to myself while hubby sleeps on the couch with the baby monitor, so I can get at least 3 minutes of sleep. Thank you, ‘teething'”

Daddy: “Having such wonderful friends and family that we love spending time with, living all over the place and with petrol prices the way they are, it can cost us a small fortune meeting up with them all. But thanks to ‘teething’ our social calendar has never had so many cancellations. I don’t have to drive anywhere! Thank you, ‘teething'”

So, act now. Get yours today!

“But, my son only has one tooth.”

Then wait, there’s more…(to come)

Our operators are standing up inside their cots, to take your orders.

Call this number…“000”. International orders, phone “911”

“Teething” – fun for the whole family.

Call NOW!!

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Syncing of You

I’ve heard that when women spend a lot of time living together that their cycles start to sync, but I never thought the same thing of men.

Until today.

My boy and I are spending so much time together that I suddenly realised, my god…

We’re on the same cycle!

We sleep, we eat…(and poop)…all on the same cycle. Put it down to routine, male bonding or effective time management, but there in lies the dilemma of needing desperately to go at the exact same time you’re changing your son’s nappy. It’s either you or me kid…one of us has to go (though, technically both of us).

So, what’s a dad to do?

Abandon the lad and leap for the latrine, possibly scarring him for life with issues of abandonment and leaving him sprawled on the change table in his own juices, like a half-stuffed turkey at Christmas?

Or grab hold of the change table and drag it with you like a scene from Platoon, dragging fallen comrades to the chopper (leave no man behind), as you back your way into the bathroom to conduct your business?

Or bite down on a block of wood with crossed legs, your body twisting like a pretzel, squinting through tears as you race to address your son’s needs, before rupturing internally or exploding like a frog in a microwave?

It used to be easier when he was younger, but now that he’s commando crawling quicker than Jeff Thompson avoiding A Current Affair cameras, I can’t just pop him on the floor and leave him unattended (there’s never a Matthew Newton available to lie on the floor with him, when you need one). And if he needs changing the same time as you’re “going”, there’s always the risk of him spreading a trail through the house that requires an urgent call to Drytron to shampoo the carpets.

So, short of matching “His” and “His” adult and child diapers, or a tandem toilet bowl built for two, I guess I have to just grin and bare it. Unless there’s a way to unsync our cycles? Anyone out there have Justin Timberlake on speed dial? I need to know how he broke up NSYNC.

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VIP Treatment

Just like the sci-fi TV-Series Sliders, each week I feel like I’m thrust through an inter-dimensional portal, right into a brand new world that I never new existed. Only, instead of having a remote control timer that thrusts me into different dimensions and circumstances at the end of every episode, I have a kid…and parenthood…that pushes me through that door, instead.

So, where did my portal take me this week?

To a place of such extraordinary VIP Treatment, the likes of which is usually reserved for royalty and/or astronauts? A luxurious world where privacy, space and convenience meet. A world where modesty, companionship and radiation all flow into one. The fascinating world I speak of, is…

The Baby Change Room

How weird, crazy and contradictory? The first thing to raise a curious eyebrow at, is the futuristic self-opening door. It’s like having the convenience of a Doorman at Crown Casino, compressed into a tiny button on the wall. Very convenient if you’re pushing a stroller and don’t have to back your way in to hold the door open. The next thing to hit you, is the SPACE. My god. This is no narrow washroom facility with troughs and cubicles lining the walls, where you sidestep around each other like Riverdancers, trying to hotfoot it to an empty cubicle without brushing up against some unfortunate coming the other way. This is Julie Andrews territory, spinning round on a hilltop singing, “The hills are alive, to the sound of music.”

There’s futuristic escape pods mounted in the wall for you to change your baby into, complete with seat belts. I guess, in case you accidentally hit the eject button or launch them into space. Either that, or you think your baby’s going to strain so hard to push something out, that he’s going to have to be strapped in for his own safety first? And how crazy is this? They have a microwave oven in there!! How long do they think it takes to change your baby? Certainly long enough to maybe heat up a kebab while you’re at it.

There’s even a discreet and private “lounge” area, where you can sit and feed your bub behind the privacy of a curtain. Now, here’s the contradictory part…

The toilet has a “his-n-hers” kind of feature, that’s really a “biguns-n-littluns” kind of deal. One big adult size toilet beside a smaller kiddy size toilet. So, it seems kind of weird and contradictory to me that if you have to pop a boob out to feed your baby, then you’d better pull a curtain across in front of you for modesty. But if you have to take a sh*t, then…modesty and privacy go out the window!! You have to do it together, no curtain, no nothing between you. Just a wink and a smile is all you can afford by way of modesty for you, my friend.

But still, I’ve never seen anything like it. There’s even a machine that dispenses “nappy kits” complete with a nappy, nappy wipe and disposable bag in case you’ve run out of your own. And some change rooms even have a play area in there for the kids! So, I think the VIP stands for Very Important Parent, if the washroom facilities are anything to go by.

What a place. What kind of world will my kid spin me into next episode? I can hardly wait to find out.

Until then…hand me that toilet roll son, spare me a square if you’re done?

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Getting to Know You

Nothing can quite prepare you for your first encounter with your child. I really didn’t expect to be so attached to him. I kind of expected the feeling would be the same as when I meet other people’s kids…

You know, they’re fun and interesting…now, who’s for Cribbage…anyone?

But I can’t explain the change that occurs when he opens his eyes for the very first time and you lock eyes for…one minute. His tiny deep blue eyes scanning your face, peering deep into your soul. It touches you in a way that doesn’t require Investigative Journalism. Instead, it bonds you for life. Like Superglue and Araldite(I loved their show in Vegas, btw).

And there’s no greater bonding experience between a man and his son, that makes you feel like…the worst dad on the planet, than when you’re changing his little nappy. And as you clear away his troubles, he looks up at you with the purest of love and trust that would melt Wolverine’s Adamantium claws. You turn to reach for a clean nappy…and that’s when the screams begin…you turn back with horror to see little Indy…

Peeing on his own face!

It makes your heart sink, and makes you want to run crying from the room like a school girl. But you have to suck it up “Mary-Ellen” (your nerve, that is…not the pee. Use a cloth for that…and wash your hands afterwards), because you’ve got to rebuild that bridge of trust. The one bonded by Superglue, which apparently can lift a one-tonne sedan with only 7 drops (I saw it on Mythbusters), yet, completely disintegrates under the influence of baby urinego figure?

Chalk that up to DAD MISHAPS #1.

And as for his first bath? Well, he takes to water like Katie Holmes to Scientology. Didn’t take long before he wanted OUT, OUT, OUT!!!

But still, I have to admit that I have grave fears that my wife may now “Indy-ed” be…

In love with another man!

And although it pains me to admit it, but

So am I 🙂

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Week 37 which means our schnitzel is officially classified as FULL TERM. So, if he were to pop out into the world right now, he’d be fully formed and functioning. Two words that are ever rarely associated with my brain, especially at the ripe old middle-age of 2191.3 weeks!

And even though our son is due in 3 weeks time, the reality is…like a train without a timetable or a teenage boy losing his virginity…he could “arrive” at any moment!!

And it will change our lives FOREVER!

And as a new dad-to-be, you gotta get used to that word…

“CHANGE”

Because they’re coming thick’n’fast, whether you’re ready for them or not.  As these music artists so readily point out:

Change The World by Eric Clapton. Chill Out, Things Gonna Change by John Lee Hooker. Change My Way Of Living by The Allman Brothers Band. Changes by David Bowie. Winds Of Change by Jefferson Starship. I Know I’ve Been Changed by John Hammond Jr. There’s Gotta Be A Change by Jonny Lang. Victim Of Changes by Judas Priest. Change It by Stevie Ray Vaughan. Perpetual Change by Yes.

When my love first announced she was pregnant, I was fully expecting some changes, however, I wasn’t fully prepared for just how BIG those changes would get. Especially when it comes to the size of her belly…Wow!

It’s like, if my wife was a supermarket, her belly would be Costco.

My wife’s pregnant belly is so big, Buzz Aldrin walked on it.

She’s like a rolling boulder. When I get caught between her and the bathroom, I’m like Indiana Jones running for my life!

When her belly moves, it’s like the shifting of a continental plate. But instead of the San Andreas Fault, it’s apparently…all my fault.

She’s huge, I’m not kidding. She’s currently bigger than One Direction.

And we still have three weeks to go! At this point, I’m worried she’ll have a bigger opening than The Avengers.

And being pregnant also changes things in the bedroom, too. And if you’ve ever had sex with a pregnant woman, then you’ll know…

Having sex during pregnancy is a lot like phone sex. There’s lots of heavy breathing, you have to do most of the work yourself and you can’t always see the person you’re having sex with.

It’s like a field mouse climbing a bowling ball.

Talk about a stretch. It’s like finding a knot-hole in a giant Redwood.

But it can be quite scenic, too. Like driving over the crest of a hill…with mountains off in the distance.

And single lads should know, intimacy during pregnancy is like sex with a prostitute. You can’t kiss and have penetrationat the same time!

But change is inevitable. Change is expected…and change is good. And in a few weeks time, change will no doubt be necessary, washable and disposable. Day after day after day after day….

Cramping My Style

Week 23 and it’s at this point, I discover two things:

My wife has to now reassess her spatial awareness, and I have…a new job.

Dribbling food down the front of your shirt was hazardous in the past, and even more so, if you have a beach ball in front of you.

Which is why you should avoid the sworn enemy of the clean flowy skirt

“The hot jam donut”

For a man, it’s pretty easy to lean forward and miss your shirt entirely. For a woman, once you clear the Himalayas, you’re pretty much in the clear. But now that you’ve added the extension to the front room, not even the hot-shoe-shuffle is gymnastics enough to avoid looking like the latest victim of a Wes Craven slasher flick, as you waddle slowly into the ladies room with jam down your arm and what looks like, an alien exploded out of your chest.

Soon, we’ll have to attach those little flags to the edge of her belly so she can see where it ends.

As for me and my new job? It’s an interesting blend of action hero and sports physiotherapist.

At the commencement of her nightly agonising leg cramps, I’m like a spring-loaded ninja who shoots out of bed like an ejector seat, grabbing her leg like Hercules wrestling an anaconda. Like a UFC cage fight, I clinch that leg and squeeze that muscle…until it taps itself out.

Which sounds tremendously heroic I know, but the reality is…it’s dark, I’m naked and half-asleep. So, it’s more like a fumbling audition for “Neked” Cirque Du Soleil.

But there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help my little family. My lovely wife’s belly is so round and cute, it’s like a giant Kinder Surprise – The chocolate egg with a surprise inside. Only this surprise is no toy, it’s a fully formed and functioning baby.

Which is why I’m glad we don’t live in Sweden. Where I imagine, they have Ikea flat-pack pregnancies, where their bellies are just flat and you have to assemble the baby yourself with an Allen key. I’m all for DIY, but…come on.

Food Glorious Food

Our little tenant turns Sweet 16...(Weeks, that is), which means we have plenty of things to celebrate.

There’s an old saying, “It’s hard to keep a good man down”, well, in my beautiful lady’s case, the same can be said for food.

But thankfully, at this stage in the game…

The “sicks” have finally left the building…

Which means, my lovely lady can finally enjoy…

“Food, glorious food!”

There’s nothing so satisfying or brings a tear to the eye more than the enjoyment of watching your loved one crawl into the belly of a wild boarand eat her way out. Oh, the joy! To finally order and finish a pizza with the lot…chairs, tables…everything. To see the waiter cringe nervously and patrons run screaming for their lives at the “all-you-can-eat buffet”. Makes a man feel proud 🙂

Both my babies are finally getting sustenance. But I can never tell if she’s looking at me with love and passion in her eyes…or just imagining me as a giant cartoon pork chop. Either way, I’m more than happy to be on the menu 😉

And at Week 16, another new and exciting affliction has come to visit…

The Burps.

Wow, it’s very rare to go a sentence or two without a little belch popping out. Blame it on those damn hormones wreaking havoc with her gastric tract. It’s a little like spending time with Homer Simpson or the Exorcist. But waaay sexier.

Which brings up another interesting observation for me. Just how sexy my lady looks pregnant…“row-row”.

Which reminds me…I’m just gonna go see what’s on tonight’s menu…

“Mmmm, the Exorcist”.