LAMB: We went on a train trip to the Museum of Contemporary Art today. But somehow you still wound up in front of a T.V (it doesn't count if it's art, right?). Unsurprisingly, you were fairly apathetic about many of the other exhibits but a wall of flipping rainbow-coloured cards held your attention for a record ten seconds. I smiled as I watched you stumble around the gallery then collapse on a soft leather seat in the middle of the room, as if the tedium was just too much to bear. It was like watching my own childhood play out before my eyes. I spent (what seemed like) my whole childhood being dragged around from gallery to gallery. I am grateful for the experience now of course, but at the time I distinctly remember it feeling a bit like torture.
LAMB: Daddy hauled the old plastic Christmas tree out of the garage today. Your brother looked on, a little perplexed, while we put it up and unwrapped our collection of shabby, mismatched ornaments. You took a rather postmodern approach to tree decorating, adding up to four ornaments to a single branch and clumping similar looking items together, all the while confining your artistic arrangement to the two bottom tiers of branches. The next morning you woke up and said excitedly "Santa come?". When I explained that Santa hadn't been yet you sighed and said "It taking a looong time" then melodramatically collapsed back into your pillow. I remember how days felt like years when I was young and I was waiting for Santa to come. The anticipation was almost too much to bear.
FOX: I gave you a bath in a big red bucket this afternoon while your sister was out. You splashed around with your usual energy and enthusiasm and, unsurprisingly, most of the water ended up on the floor. I took you out, placed you on a towel and set about cleaning up the mess. When I turned around I saw you on your hands and knees shuffling forward. You only managed an inch or two before collapsing on the floor. It's funny, I'm in no way eager for you to start crawling just yet but when I saw you doing it, after months of futile attempts and frustrated squeals, I found myself clapping excitedly and cheering you on.
When I was a child my father used to call me 'daddy-long-legs'. He also called me 'skinny-as-a-rake' but puberty coupled with a healthy relationship with chocolate rectified that problem (and yes, needing a bar of chocolate before getting up in the morning constitutes a health relationship). This (daddy-long-legs) is a nickname I seem to have unconsciously adopted for you. Now that you are older I can see the little bits of me you have inherited. Long, skinny limbs and freakishly long fingers and toes - you can thank me for that one.
FOX: I cannot tell how much I wish I could save these days and weeks and revisit them at a later date. Your babyhood seems to be whizzing past and I am left, head spinning, wondering where on earth the time went. You are only mine for such a short time and it seems so very cruel that I'm too busy to give you the attention I so desperately want to give you. When I am old and grey and have all the time in the world on my hands, you will be a grown man, out living your life, perhaps with a family of your own. I will sit in my Nana chair, sip my tea, pour over these photos and ache to kiss your chubby baby cheeks again. Those soft, soft baby cheeks. And I will think how very rude it was of you to go and grow up on me.
Fox, the unwitting victim of Lamb's new doctor's kit.
LAMB: I took you to the toy shop today and told you that you could pick out one toy to give to your baby brother for Christmas. First, you pointed to a Peppa Pig doll house and I had to remind you that the present was in fact for your brother, not you (something which I had to reiterate quite a few more times before leaving the store). Then you picked out a huge, red beach buggy, the kind that you can actually get in and drive. I agreed that Fox may have enjoyed receiving this sort of present, but I explained that we would have to rip a hole in our wall to get it into our house, and that even then we would probably have to move because there would be no space left for us. In the end it was a choice between Mr. Potato Head and a small plastic dinosaur. With the decisiveness of a three year old you picked Mr. Potato Head. Then the dinosaur. Then Mr. Potato Head again. But not before making sure that, even though the present was for your brother, you could still play with it too.
Likes: Anything pink, The Wiggles, bones and X-rays.
Dislikes: When your brother squeals, when your brother cries, when your brother pulls your hair.
Your favourite phrase at the moment: "Dis one taking a looooong tiiiime"
Daddy: (referring to your new sunglasses) They're funky, lamb.
Lamb: Dis one not funky. Dis one sungarsess!
When you came home from a sleepover at Nanny's house I asked you what you had for Dinner. "Porridge" you replied. "You had porridge for dinner?" I said doubtfully, "Then what did you have for breakfast?". "Porridge" you replied. "So you had porridge for dinner and breakfast?". "No" you said, looking slightly annoyed as if you couldn't possibly have been any clearer, "Just porridge".
FOX: You finally got your change to touch that moving, orange fur thing that you have been so fascinated with. The fur thing was a little cautious but was quite happy to let you pat it's nose. However, it's patience was tested when you tugged on the long swishy thing protruding from the other end.