Don't Look A Gift Baby in the Mouth

Waking a sleeping Chickie goes against everything I work all day to achieve. It’s such a waste of a perfectly unconscious baby. As much as I hate it, I had to do it today in order for Chickie to be able to go and play with his raisin eating friends. Chickie spat all dried fruits out of his mouth and pointed expectantly at the Jaffa cakes .

The rest of the day I watched Chickie destroy stuff, cry, spit any healthy food out of his mouth and clench his bottom. Yes, you’ve heard it all before.

There was no dinner on the table when Accountant returned home as I’d spent over an hour rubbing Chickie’s tummy in a clockwise direction in the hope I could squeeze the resident backlog out like toothpaste. Accountant was gracious about the eventual arrival of some cheese on toast but told me it would come up in future arguments. I thanked him for the advance warning.

I spent some time pondering whether I minded the predictable rut my life had fallen into and decided that I did a bit. Babies and routine go together like 'rama lama lama ke ding a de dinga a dong' but I need some 'shoo bop shoo wadda wadda yipitty boom de boom'.

I will therefore be working on a strategy to see what can be done to ‘chang chang chang-it-ty chang shoo-bop’ things up a bit.