Living in a Box

We're packing all our stuff to move back to the old one-bedroom flat next door, and let's call the reason for that an administrational cock-up, oops: error, and not waste precious web space going into details. Unfortunatley Tara's mum has an odd sense of humour and feels the need to pack kith and kin along with kit, so Tara gets to live in a box for a bit, and living in a drawer seems to please her just as much. Of course! There are two men on her left and right, just outside the picture, keeping her upright and entertained, just as she likes it. (Her favourite man just kneeling to her left.)

As bad luck has it, her sitting skills have not progressed much since her ding-a-dong days, so boxes and drawers are not really as suitable as babysitter daddy, who keeps polishing his one handed dish washing skills placidly when he absolutely has to. A shame those skills cannot be transferred to the scrubbing of bath rooms and the defrosting of freezers. Wah wah, says Tara, I prefer living on arms to living on bouncy chairs, wah!
But can you see the smile she's giving me? I didn't even have to work for it, this time. I only said hallo hallo hallllllo! She must remember me as the woman who only yesterday made her laugh so hard by bouncing up and down in front of her shouting Boo! Boo! Boo! for about 20 minutes. If I don't make it to the gym, I figured, and kept power-sqatting and shouting. (I'm lying. I just thought: If you keep laughing like this, my wonderful amazing daughter, then I'll just bounce forever, or at least until I can't feel my legs any more!)
The only box I know to come with inbuilt entertainment is a TV. And we don't have one. Oh, baby...


P.S.: So yes, we're busy moving. No more blogs, calls, or emails until we're reconnected, whenever that will be.

Going Bananas

So it's December, and with the regularity of the sun going up and down, I'm putting dough in the over and pull banana loaves back out. Since my sister made us 3 cakes in four days, Jose got addicted and we have developed a new family tradition (I don't get addicted. I just get chubby). It goes like this:
Mummy: Jose! I'm going to bake you a cake because I love you so and I know you love the cake nearly as much as me!
Jose: Great. This is true love. My cake! My cake!
Then I bake the cake, eat about 40% of it, run off with about another 40% to feed friends, and leave Jose with the remaining slices. What he has to say to that is no blogging material, but also part of the tradition and a good enough reason to go out and buy:
butter (110g), sugar (190g), 2 eggs, 3 ripe bananas, flour (150g brown and white each), baking powder (2 tea spoons), walnuts (100g), and two bars of dark yummy chocolate;
and get baking again as follows (Sarah & Sue, listen up!):
mix butter, sugar, eggs and 3 spoons of warm water until smooth;
blend or mash the bananas and mix them in with the above;
mix all the remaining ingredients together, add a pinch of salt (smash the still wrapped bars of choc up with a bottle, pound them and beat them to a pulp - this is highly satisfactory in general and whacks that unruly chocolate into shape on top. Do NOT cheat by buying chocolate drops);
Mix all of the above together, and stick in the over for an hour at ca. 160 degrees.
Hmmmmmm... that smells good! And how it tastes! Doesn't it Jose? And you don't mind if I take just one thin slice to...

Tara of course helps as best as she can by behaving and sitting quietly in her bouncy chair for however long it takes. Depending on how cooperative she feels, this is anything between 20 minutes and half a day. And because she's well over four months already, and because wriggling my expanding backside at her in time with the chocolate beat was not entertaining enough to keep her happy during the last baking session, mummy bribed her with her first taste of yummy yummy mashed banana. Hmmmmm, Tari, lecker!
But then this whole eating business is just the most fascinating thing! (Yes! Yes! My daughter! No doubt! ... And just how lucky is Jose that Tara is too young still to claim her share of the remaining 20%!)


Although of course for now there is nothing quite as blissful as a nice meal of a boobie. A picture in babana yellow.

Princess Pumpuni & Princess Peanut

Welcome to the world: Princess Peanut, Tara's "cousin Martin" Lia. We are delighted that everything went so well and that the sad little frog, who a week ago was still stranded without much water in the pond, is such a contented, healthy little thing, and positively taking after her mother where beauty is concerned! Who kissed this little froglet, to turn her into a princess? No. Wrong question! Who, other than those lucky enough to be where Lia is, would like to kiss her, too? Me, me, me! I'll have to kiss Princess Pumpuni instead (easily done!), but I'm counting down to when I get to see and cuddle your gorgeous baby girl, Nirite!

Tara herself hasn't much to say about her new cousin yet - but I'm sure she will, once we get back together for a lifetime of play!



Do you remember when Tara was this small? She didn't even have her name yet when she was as old as Lia is today (2 1/2 days!), and that's only four months and a week ago!

This Mummy is a Dummy

Peaceful sleeping arrangements? A thing of the past! Tara's sleeping pattern had taken a funny (NOT!) turn over the last few weeks, and begun to look like this:
Daytime (ca. 10am to 12pm):
Doze at random, depending on soothing movement provided in the form of bouncing chairs, motherly embraces or moving prams (stationary prams? WahWah!), for random periods depending on continuity of movement.
Nights:
12pm to about 4am, decent sleep, largely, and most of the time.
ca. 4am, 'Mummy I'm hungry, I want some milk!', and back to sleep.
ca. 5am, 'Mummy can I have that booby back, I'd like another sip', and back to sleep.
ca. 6am, 'Mummy where is that booby again? Sucking things is so nice!', and back to sleep.
ca. 7am, 'Booby? Nipple?', and back to sleep.
ca. 8am, 'Hungry? Mummy?', and back to sleep.
ca. 9am, 'I thought we had an arrangement here? Now where's my nipple? I'm going to cry if it doesn't come back in my mouth right now!', and back to sleep. Or rather, doze, lamenting the loss of decent sleep. Even though it is very nice to be woken by my snuffling baby who knows how to find me with her eyes closed, and then opens and closes her little mouth in the direction of where she's found me.

It struck me the other day: I'm her dummy. And what is happening is exactly what anti-dummy advocates describe as the problem you have when baby gets used to her dummy, loses it in the night, and then wakes you and won't settle again till you recover it for her! But what was I going to do about it? Tara had made it clear she didn't like them!
And then came Monday night, with Tara waking up at midnight, ready to party and unable to get back to sleep; and with it came:

THE DUMMY DEBATE (Part II)
Mummy: I have a BRILLIANT idea! Wouldn't it be just WONDERFUL if it worked?
Daddy: Yes, wouldn't that be great!
(Mummy runs to dig the dummies back out, and plops one in Tara)
Mummy: My God! It works!
Daddy: My God! It works!
Both: Oh thank God for that! Hurrah!

The nights haven't improved much since. Whether she wakes me to go looking for her dummy or my nipple really comes down to the same. But they work, in the daytime as well, and yes, we are making use of them. Occasionally.
Dummy (1): Alex (0)



And while all this went on, another baby was being born, and another new mummy launched into sleepless nights. Good luck to lovely Lia and Nirit!

Ooops! (More on Poo-Poo Faces and, well, Poo-Poo)

Ladies and Gentlemen! I present: Pumpuni's current poo-poo face. It is an after-the-event face that she reserves nearly exclusively for her daddy, who I'm sure she knows to be no fan of untidyness of any kind, be it on floors, stairs, living-room tables or in nappies. "Ooops, Papi," it seems to say, "I... erm... need your help getting out of this nappy (optional: and everything else I'm wearing)!" Now, ladies and gentlemen, do not read on if your delicate sensibilities are as easily offended as Daddy Jose's.

People! What you can see on the right is an emergency bath. What you cannot see, and it is better than way, is Tara's pre-accident outfit in the elegant tones of used-to-be pink gone mustardy yellow. Tara has broken all personal records and put a mere up-to-the-shoulders to shame. How bad was it? Let's quote her father on the original moment of discovery: "Alexxx!! I need you up here!!" (I was downstairs, trying to sort out the mess on the table. A millenium project.) "Es para devolverla!!!" Loosely in English: It's so bad we should consider returning her and getting a new one! It was indeed so bad that he tried stripping her lying on her front and then begged for my help. A two parent project. Granted, she was already in it up to her neck, but there was no need to get it into her ears as well. Another record she broke today is that of two (emergency) baths in a row, we normally space them out more, shall we say, generously? Normally, though, our baby smells good and is skin colour, not baby poo yellow (to give you a visual idea). Did she do it on purpose? A subtle call for more baths? Pumpuni?

Tara! Sorry, babe, I had to record your records and show you off, my gorgeous plum pudding. Your baby self did not object, enjoyed the bath and had the usual shout at Papi when he tried to dress you afterwards. I know you prefer going naked.

And she could have said something! She does talk, you know? It goes something like this:



Note how skillfully she strikes her best model pose after she realises she's on camera! She's a star! Though she doesn't get it from me, and there are only three possible explanations for the way she has with the camera: 1) She's a natural. 2) It's genetic and she gets it from her aunty Nirite, aka Tante Rosi. 3) We've trained her up. This might have to do with the new camera we got at the end of September. We've had it for about nine weeks and we're on to picture 1362. All of which feature Tara.
I think all three are likely, don't you?