Bringing up baby: 22 September 2012

Milestones:

- Atilla said "Thank you" to me, both verbally and in sign. I had shared with him some/most of my toast at breakfast. This is the second time he's thanked me. The first time was last week, I think. It was over so quickly I almost missed it.

- Atilla helped out with cleaning up the dining area again. This is the third time he's done it. Once he finished, he was happy to go have a bath with Daddy.

Highlights today:

I spent the morning with Atilla. Breakfast, playground.

He had come into our bed during the night, bringing a couple of books[1]. When he woke up this morning, he was in an agreeable mood. He tried to get back to sleep, tossing and turning. He gave up. He had some water from his water bottle. He read his books several times - "That's not my Tiger" and "Baby Animals". He played with his coughing bowl[2] by turning it into a hat. First on his head. Then on my head. Then on Daddy's head.

This amused me so much, I gave up on a morning lie-in. Atilla helped me get dressed, and we went downstairs for Mum&Son weekend breakfast routine: milk bottle, tea for parents, breakfast for mum and son. As aforementioned, I shared most of my toast with Atilla. (Much afterwards, I had his rejected microwaved scrambled egg.)

It was such a lovely morning. It hadn't rained overnight, so I was fairly confident the playground wasn't soaked like it has been for the past 2 weeks. It only took 30mins to convince Atilla, and to get out of the house.

I attempted to teach road safety rules. It didn't take, but I'll persevere. Look both ways before crossing the road; the person looking after you walks on the outside.

At the playground I made a cursory inspection of the safe yellow slide - no puddle at the base so I must be right about no wet.

Atilla wanted the swing. He swung. He wanted down.

We climbed up the wooden steps to the yellow slide and slid down the slide. My bum feels wet and cold! I was wrong about no wet.

We meandered around the playground for a bit. It was Our Domain. No one else there. Keyboard, climbing ropes, lizard wall. Spinning thing.

Atilla became dizzy so we stopped. Being dizzy, he couldn't balance properly and fell over on the bark-strewn ground. He was fascinated by a stick and used it to make trenches in the barked ground. He looked so cute and pre-occupied, safe enough to have him solo-play, I thought.

I kept an eye on him, and sat on the big swing, and swung, thinking loving thoughts about how wonderful Atilla is.

Shortly afterwards Atilla started to look for me, and he decided he wanted the swing again. He sat in the baby swing, and was swung, and indicated he wanted Mummy to sit in the big swing. We swung companionably side by side for extended minutes. Three sessions, I call it, as I got off the swing three times.

We played Chase, and Hide and Seek. Then Atilla wanted morning tea. He was sad about having only the apple he had nibbled at breakfast, so we went to the corner bakery to buy toddler-friendly food. Sultana bun, and sausage in pastry roll.

We sat on the playground bench, and shared the bun. Like we used to do last year. He ate well. Part-way through, he wanted to sit on the other bench. So we did. He likes perching, I think. I did when I was a kid. Probably still do, but less opportunity.

Another family came to the playground: mum, daughter, son. Atilla was transfixed, bun forgotten in his hand.

The girl was rambunctious everywhere. She was fearless.

Atilla finished his food, and we returned to play. Of significance is he wanted to climb the lizard wall for real. So I helped him, giving instruction he should push himself up the wall with his legs. We made it up. Transversing the wobbly log-rope bridge is only if Daddy takes him. He was amenable. He slid down the yellow slide. We repeated climbing and sliding a few more times.

The family departed.

Atilla led the way for a meander through the small grassy area, under the trees, and sidewalk. He found a stick. I enjoyed the moment. We had all the time in the world.

When he became peckish again, we had to go home.

Once in our driveway, Dad was talking with our neighbour about water supply. That's another story.

***

[1] Ever since he had some independence in coming and going out of his bed at night, and self-possession, he brings in one or two books when he comes to our bed. The books are carefully chosen, not just any random books to hand. I hadn't realised his careful selection, until one night when I heard him wake up, get out of bed, and go to his book collection and rummaged through it. The books he brought in that night were previously at the bottom of the pile of books. 

[2] His coughing bowl is a small mixing bowl, a carryover from when he was ill and needed a spew bowl.