Working Out “Indy-Gym”

Space: the final frontier (how apparent that we’re quickly running out of it). These are the voyages of the commando crawling, Indy-prise. His 8 month mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilisations, to boldly go where no man has gone before…

Gymbaroo!!

(Not to be confused with the Boy Scout’s gigantic week long Jamboree, nor a 3 day festival of Jim Carrey and Jim Belushi films, Jimbaroo – and if there is such a thing…god help us all).

It is in fact, the biggest playmat exercise adventure experience (the size of a basketball court), that Indy has ever seen AND…a heralded saviour and answer to my prayers when wondering how many times can our little bloke circle the couch on his belly, play with the same plastic blocks day after day, figure out my tax receipts and change the oil in my car…all without getting bored?

And now that Indy’s unquenchable thirst for investigating has hit an all-time high (he’s a nosey little bugger), I feel like Roy Scheider in Jaws…

“We’re gonna need a bigger boat.”

Gymbaroo to the rescue. From the minute we walked in and was presented with the plethora of climbing, jumping, rolling and textural equipment…Indy went bananas! Like Charlie Sheen and tiger blood, there’s just no stopping him. Crawling around, singing songs, playing games, learning and having fun all at the same time (flashbacks to his conception), it’s so great to see our boy grow in confidence and tackle more challenging apparatus’ (apperati?), week after week.

And the great part for daddy is that, with all the excitement and stimulation, our little boy is plum tuckered out by the time we get home. Which means I get a few spare moments to myself during the day for important things, like figuring out just how he did change the oil in my car in the first place. And he’d better not have adjusted the seat, it took me ages to get it just right.

Going, going…Gone.

Our son’s first week at home has been nothing, if not, eventful. And thanks to my own childhood boot camp Boy Scout training (bar that one embarrassing incident at Brownies), we were pretty much setup and definitely came prepared. But the one thing we weren’t prepared for, was…

The Zombie Apocolypse

I mean, we always knew it was going to happen. People have waved placards about it. There was even that documentary on the subject that Simon Pegg “You’ve got RED on you”, made with his cricket bat. And, low, we did heed the warning signs, but like Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries when hearing the statistics that one-in-one “reality-tv weddings” end in divorce, we too said…

“That won’t happen to us”.

But low…it did happen. Hypnotized by a tiny invader, he infiltrated our defenses and we’ve both been bitten.

Now, the wee small hours of the morning see our soulless lifeless bodies limply staggering, inch-by-inch, eyes hanging out of our heads. Our mournful moans and grunts echo hauntingly through the house, guided purely by muscle memory, changing nappies, mixing formula, expressing milk in a syringe, boiling utensils…all in a semi-conscious state. The sleep deprived Walking Dead. The children that Boris Karloff forgot.

We may never sleep again.

Resistance is futile…

“Join us…join us…”