Wind Your Body little Mimey Fish!!

I can't believe I forgot to tell you all about two of the things that have topped the charts of comedy Alfie moments:

During the last few weeks of my pregnancy, Keith and I got addicted to a Facebook game called Fish Wrangler.

It's possibly one of the easiest games to play since coins were given two sides, but the real pull with this game is the long and very amusing gallery of fish that are available to be caught. One of them is the tricky little Mime Fish who swims along pulling a face something like this:

From as soon as he was aware he had a mouth to purse, Alfie has pulled a face that is shocking in its similarity: Frankly, if I didn't know better, I would have said Alfie had been playing Fish Wrangler himself. What do we reckon? Seperated at birth?

The other thing I can't believe I forgot to mention was one of those occasions when you laugh so hard, tears roll down your face and no sound comes out any more. I'm not entirely sure whether there was an element of hysteria being that it happened about 3 days after we left hospital and let's face it, hormones are a bitch, but it's one of the things I want to read back and laugh about in years to come.

We had the radio on and for some reason known only to them, they saw fit to play BOOM Shakka Laka.

For those too young to know of this song, count yourself lucky, it was a hideous tune that had middle class white folk trying to bunp and grind with disasterous results.

For those too old to have been touched by the desire to bogle, this was the sort of song that had your daughter's fella turned up with it on his car stereo, you would have shot him on sight, just to be on the safe side.

Anyway, a few days into being parents and on comes this blast from our past. Keith, quick as a flash jumps to his feet with mini baby Batsford and proceeds not only to sing the whole song word perfect, but also dance the whole thing with Alfie.

Never, even if I live to be a hundred, will I forget the sight of my husband and new born baby winding their bodies and wiggling their be-lleeees around our lounge.

If you're wondering what Alfie's response was to the whole episode - see above.

11 Weeks old - Alfie finds his voice

I had an interesting conversation with Keith on chat this morning while I was ploughing through morning mails and he was getting Alfie up for the day. Interesting in sense that it was one of those conversations that really defines how a relationship has changed. Where once there was flirting and plans for weekend reunions, there is now baby information; sometimes too much thereof, as this snippet will testify

“whoa, that was a sight! You hadn’t done up his sleep suit right, and it was so full the nappy had expanded and ballooned out the hole in his suit between his legs. Thankfully it kept it all in though, and there was a LOT of it!”

And it made me wonder whether I miss it – the old days I mean – and the answer is surely and certainly NO! I love this new normality of ours, perhaps even more than when I was at home with them, because I get the edited highlights and the fun part where I come home and it’s all about the massages and bath time.

Incidentally, we seem to have stepped away from the massage = copious amounts of wee stage now, and Alfie has decided instead that when I move onto his tummy area, the correct response is to go cross eyed and blow raspberries. Seriously, every night, it’s freaky, so freaky that Keith got video to prove to the world how freaky that boy can look.

I am also taking great strides (or more accurately today, a stiff hobble) to regaining my former figure with BuggyFit classes. In reality this involves lots of power walking round parks pushing prams, lunges and then doing some mat work with the buggies parked up and the babies flailing around like upended turtles (Keith’s observation, but doesn’t it just describe 2 month olds perfectly???)

Last week was a really positive experience, although I was a bit stymied in my efforts by the fact that running really hurt my scar. A trip to the M&S unsexy underwear department later and I had a super sucker-inner (as they are affectionately known in my family) which held everything in place enough for me to get my groove on yesterday.

I was quite looking forward to joining in the jogging, despite feeling a little like I had been vacuum packed into my underwear which frankly was something of an unwelcome experience.

Not even my previous experience of basques had quite readied me for the feeling that some demonic child had separated my legs and torso and inserted a lego groin where my fully articulated one used to be.

To add insult to injury, I only got to do the first round of running because Alfie woke himself up by weeing and then insisted on telling the rest of the class, nay the WORLD, about the indignity of his situation.

I ran up the slope to see the lovely instructor rocking the pram and my heart sank as I heard his first splutterings.

I changed him as quickly as I could, but the combination of cold and interrupted sleep meant Alfie was firmly, and unhappily awake by the time I had finished.

Suddenly he went back to his days of being Perpetual Motion Baby and when I parked him up to start the mat work section of the class, he began his protest in earnest.

Waaaaaa-rooooooo .......

The lovely instructor took the pram and started rocking him to try and get him to drop back off while I pretended to find my mat really very interesting

Waaaaaaaa-RRROOoOOOoooo

“Is he hungry do you think?”

“No, he ate just before we left”
(please don’t let him get worked up, please, please, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll even catch up on my housework!!)

Waaaaaa-ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

“Shall I get him out and give him a cuddle?”

“Absolutely if you think it will help”
(which I doubt it will, and good luck with the ringing in your ears)

WAAAAAAAAAAAA-ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

“Eerrm Tash”

Bugger. Just ..... BUGGER

Several minutes of bouncing later and he had stopped. Unfortunately by this time so had the class.

In other news, Alfie has proven he much prefers his sling to pram when walking with the dogs. Mainly because he gets to be nosy and see everything while expending absolutely no energy at all.

I believe this expression says it all – minion, take me that-a-way.

I tell you what, when he learns to throw a paddy, I’m moving out.

In praise of Not-The-Mama

For those of you who don’t remember Dinosaurs, that will mean nothing, and for those that do, yes I did just compare my son to an obnoxious lump of Henderson plastic.

I am now halfway through my second day back at work and have I received so much as an emergency phonecall? No. My husband (or Not-The-Mama as I will now call him) is not only coping with being a stay at home dad, he is excelling!!

I arrived home last night fully expecting Armageddon to have taken up residence in the spare room, so imagine my surprise when I walked into a house that was not only quiet, it was cleaner and tidier than when I had left in the morning!! If I had known it would be so easy to get housework done, I would have suggested we do this years ago!!

Alfie the baby warthog (he’s a little snuffly at the moment) was sitting on his granddad’s knee looking like he hadn’t slept all day (possibly because he hadn’t slept all day!!) with his bottom lip pushed out just far enough to serve as a warning that the high emotion of a full day awake had put him firmly on the edge of reason, from where he was liable to tip at any point: And so he did as soon as I picked him up.

See, I don’t ask for much in life, but coming home from your first day at work you would like to think that you were missed just a little bit, and being greeted by a lusty waaa-ROOOOO as soon as you pick your son up is not quite the welcome one might hope for. I know he’s only 10 weeks today, so I wasn’t expecting him to run the length of the house and launch himself into my arms or anything, but seriously, screaming ab dabs, really?!?!

Anyway, I managed to restore my sense of self respect by getting a smile out of him 30 seconds later (see, high emotion, it’s a terrible thing) while bundling him into the pram, harnessing the dogs and setting off on what I feared might be a husky ride through the town.

Keith had departed for the football so it was either risk going it alone, or put up with Harry shouting at the neighbours all evening. I chose the former and was truly amazed that we managed to not only get through the whole walk without incident (even when an off lead dog came bounding up to us) but managed to get the small boy off to sleep as well.

All in all it was a very successful evening.

Today the list of Alfie jobs involves some very growded up fings: Firstly, I have just set up an email address for him, because these days you can’t sign up for anything without one and frankly I thought it would be easier if he had his own rather than piggy back on either mine or Keith’s. So if you want to get hold of our son, he can be reached at

alfie dot batsford at gmail dot com

Don’t expect a lengthy response though, his typing still leaves a lot to be desired.

Also I will be opening his first bank account at lunch because the people who manage his child trust fund have taken the stupendously intelligent step of making it impossible to pay in additional contributions to his account unless they are addressed to them, rather than the account holder. It seemed logical to avoid future rises in my blood pressure that we open an account in his name so we can bank any cheques sent in his name now and in the future – because clearly, I have nothing better to do with my life than transfer money about to compensate for the trust fund people’s lack of foresight. It’s a good thing they’re ethical or I’d be taking my business elsewhere. With a flounce.

Oh, last job for the day is to track down some Hipp Organic milk for hungry babies. Not that guzzle guts needs extra food during the day but he does seem to want to eat more than his tummy can hold at night and I’m hoping the extra calories of the hungry baby milk might just keep him snoozling for that extra few hours needed to stop Keith pouting.


If anyone sees any please let me know where, because Hipp seem to have missed a key facet of economics – in order to sell, you must first make the flipping thing available to be bought!!

On the Eve of Going Back to Work

Well, time is up: As of tomorrow I will be back at work, and it feels like these last few months have gone past in a few minutes. When I left work I was the size of a barge and full of optimism about the impending birth which was, I was sure, just a few short days away.

Yeah I know, made me laugh too.

The lack of posting since the birth has been a deliberate move on my part, knowing as I did that I would have little enough time off, but plenty of time to reflect afterwards. In fact, it does feel a lot as if real life has been put on hold for the last few months so I do wonder how things are going to pan out now that I will have time to reflect during my daily schlep.

Alfie has been a constant source of pleasure for the last 9 weeks – 9 weeks, god has it only been 9 weeks?!? – and his being around has led to some superb comedy moments so in traditional TOTP style here is a countdown of the best (dah, daaah, dah, da-da, daaaaaaaah!!!)

The Baptism

Cannon Bennie took centre stage at Comedy Central by accidentally locking us out of the church, reading the service from an entirely different book to the one the rest of us were reading and then mixing up the words of the service so we all ended up rejecting Jesus' empty promises instead of Satan's. Godfather Bill (Maltesters in cheeks purely optional) was then left holding the baptism candle while we went to sign the register with hot wax dripping all over his new suit unsure of whether he was allowed to blow it out or not. Bangers and Mash at the pub was just fab, and I felt so choked when I looked over at the other tables to see all our nearest and dearest who had taken the trouble to turn out to celebrate Alfie's arrival.

Baby Massage

Last week we started baby massage classes run as part of the SureStart initiative in the local library. We were the only couple there, and Keith the only man, and to make matters worse, for reasons of feeding, and sleeping, we were one of only 2 people who actually laid hand on baby to try out some of these snazzy massage moves. The first session was all about the legs and feet and there were several pairs of eyes aimed firmly in our direction when teech proved once and for all that the essence of comedy is timing.

Teech: Now take a foot in your hand, find this point and press with the tip of your thumb …

Keith, brow furrowed, finds the spot and presses for all his worth before looking up for his next instruction

Alfie, naked and bemused by the entire experience takes aim and makes like a fountain

Teech: … that releases all the tension in the abdomen … here, I think you need this tissue.

Because Keith had managed to get his leg completely covered by Number One Son without having noticed a single thing. Moreover, he managed to get covered a second time by the little fella not 5 minutes later while doing the other foot, and didn't notice that either. I mean seriously, how can you not notice something like that?!? Twice!!!

Miss World Arrives Home

Just after we arrived home to Gib, the newly crowned Miss World arrived back home to a rapturous welcome. I'm talking seriously rapturous here, almost orgasmic. When the day was declared a national holiday we all grabbed a paper flag and headed onto Main Street with the rest of Gib to line the parade route. The temperature was 18o and being as this was shorts weather, we took the small boy out suitably attired. Unfortunately we had forgotten that temperature, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder and this being the Gib winter, we stood out like clowns at a funeral.

Gibraltar being what it is, we got the verbal mauling of our lives! Sod Miss World, there's a baby here in short sleeves and no socks, this cannot go unpunished! Eventually, the remonstrations died down to mutters and clucks, until Alfie, in a move of unparalleled bad timing decided to make known his tidings of woe at having just filled his nappy.

Even more unfortunate was the fact that as the whole family had just run down to see Miss World (who like any good prima donna had kept us waiting) we didn't have a nappy or wallet between us. Not that we could explain this to Alfie who by now was letting the entire crown know of his displeasure which of course just sealed the prevailing opinion that we Englishers torture babies. Luckily, a fiver was found and a pack of nappies bought from a nearby pharmacy and wouldn't you just know it, Miss World chose that moment to make her appearance.

My enduring memory of the parade was looking over to see Keith changing Alfie on a Burger King table while the luscious lady sailed serenely past.

Jiggy Chicken (and other dances)

There are certain times when faced with a case of the screaming ab dabs the choice is to beat 'em, or join 'em. Clearly beating is not an option, so when faced with the necessity of Option B, the members of my, and I suspect many other families, have displayed previously unplumbed depths of musical creativity.

Keith invented the Jiggy Chicken dance while in Gib airport (Alfie decided baggage reclaim was the ideal place to fill his nappy) which goes something like

He's a jiggy chick'ehn, a jiggy chick'ehn,

A jiggy chick'ehn, a jiggy chick'ehn,

He likes jiggin' and chi'hi'kehn,

Cos he's a jiggy chi'hi'kehn!

While Alfie was laid along his forearms being jiggled manically. Strangely it did the trick, not just then but for many weeks afterwards. It also proved to be a very versatile tune with chicken being changed for chillimanjay, which is Keith's unique take on the Spanish for Custard Apple.

I should explain the chicken reference simply by saying that Alfie's poo smells of roast chicken crisps. Or it did at that point anyway, I was hugely dismayed to find out that the smell had morphed into the smell of chickpeas last week, it becomes very hard to enjoy your meal when all you can think of is your first born's dirty nappies.

Anyway, the other dance of note has much simpler lyrics. It goes "una aceituuuna, una aceituuuna" and it was invented by my little sister Mich in the middle of the supermarket one day when the only source of lyrical inspiration was a nearby olive stand. That too seemed scarily successful in combating the onset of a lip wobbling hissy fit.

So what now is to become of my little boy with hair like a teddy, comedy waaaa-rooooo cry and eyelashes supermodels would kill for? How will I deal with missing the long, involved, bubbly conversations, the heart melting smile and the frankly terrifying poo face? It feels so strange that having got to know every nuance of every cry for the last 9 weeks, I'll now miss the next development. Pretty soon he'll make a noise and I'll have to look helpless until Keith translates for me. But in some ways I'm hugely grateful for that fact.

Our boy is going to be looked after by his dad, who frankly is bursting with the excitement of all the adventures they are going to have together. I tell myself and everyone else that he is the better person to stay with Alfie, and he is by a country mile, but I am going to miss the three of us rattling around all day together. Now we will only have a few family adventures a week but we'll be none the worse for that fact because I'm going to day trip the shit out of them.

That's the plan anyway. Right now it all feels a bit scary and I'm hoping someone in the office has a dance ready for me when I realise how much I am missing my son and by bottom lip starts to go.