story 5.5

Atilla was sad. Nothing was happening. He had waited and waited. But no doing. Life wasn't all grapes and biscuits. Oh well.

He wondered what Cousin Qwerty was doing. He sighed. Leaving Brisbane was hard. Getting to the airport was easy enough. Except for waking up early in the morning. It was the emotional aspect he had a hard time with.

He was already missing Auntie M-, Uncle B-, Cousin Qwerty, Cousin Amy. On the other hand it would be very nice to play with his own toys again. He was sure they missed him.

Atilla didn't think very highly of the airline food. He became glummer. Nothing was happening. There was a very low chance of not returning home.

"Everything is fine," Mum said soothingly. For the second ninth time. He humoured her, and smiled innocently.

Dad backed her up. "See? There's nothing to worry about," he said distractedly.

Atilla re-iterated the hypothesis he concluded last year: Adults are strange.

Bringing up Baby: memories A Lovely Day

We had a lovely day.

Atilla did not cry to sleep for his morning nap. He slept in his cot. He napped for an hour.

I found our picnic mat. We had our first picnic in our garden. Atilla kept his sunhat on. He ventured onto the grass. He played with the bucket-picnic basket. He didn't get bit by ants or mosquitoes.

After that we finished lunch in the house. He kept busy snacking grapes while I did the dishes. Then we played very many. It was lovely and heartwarming. He chortled and giggled and smiled toothily. His fifth and sixth teeth are coming out.

Atilla didn't cry to sleep for his afternoon nap. He napped for an hour. He was in his cot.

He awoke crying, becoming inconsolable as we hunted around the house for person or people not there.

Eventually he allowed me to feed him. This afternoon meal took an hour. We played some more, marking time until Daddy arrived home to take a bath wih Atilla.

Atilla 'knows' silliness. I pretended to drink from his water bottle, and it prompted a wide smile.

Atilla didn't cry to sleep for his evening sleep. He fell asleep in his cot.

We need black-out curtains.

Bringing up baby: weaning

Atilla is experienced in the art of being fed.

I offer a bread course - toast with marmite, or variously baked yoghurt toasties - which he accepts unhesitatingly to munch away. Until he sees me preparing his mains. Then the bread (or bread substitute) is tossed aside contemptuously and the yodeling begins the demand for his proper meal.

Happily at this stage Atilla does not pay significant attention apart from to his next spoonful, I can prepare his fruit course in relatively aural-free mood.

This trend of habit was noted only recently, and I'm playing catch-up with his development.

P.s. I have tried offering commercial jars of baby food. He doesn't like 'em. So for now we're staying with home- made food.

Bringing up Baby: memories Peek-a-boo

His latest trick: Atilla initiates a "peek-a-boo" game. He fumbles with an opaque object, such as a plastic lid from a take-away container. He hides his eyes and face. He quickly moves it away from his face and his eyes are staring into yours. He waits expectantly.

"Peek-a-boo!" the audience says.

He shrieks with joy. He hides his eyes and face with the lid. He quickly moves it away from his face.

"Peek-a-boo!"

Ad nauseum.

Gradually his movements are less precise. Sometimes the lid wanders over his head, but he still makes the quick removal, so the game continues.

He is not much tolerant of variations - no taking turns with the lid, and not the audience hiding.

Bringing up baby: memories

Atilla has an endearing habit right now.

He's very keen on the opening of closets. After his bath, if I have forgotten to lay out his evening wear, I head to his closet to open it. And oh! The wide excited grin on his face! His happy chortle of expectant adventures! A gurgle of pleasure as I run my finger past each of his clothing to decide the right one.

He rolls over and wriggles and shuffle-crawls across the king-sized mattress in his eagerness.

His wail of disappointment when he is reminded t-shirts go over his head, his hands go through the sleeves. Or, the buttons on his growsuit needs to be fastened on a well-dressed toddler.

***

One memory I miss of him already is his graceful plump baby hands. He looks to the left, and his right hand motions gracefully in a slight twisting gesture.

I miss the faces he made at me.

I miss his grin as he suckles his milk. In the beginning his closed eyes, and milk stupor. Then, eye contact as he stares. Then, his grin of happiness. Then, when I could make him smile by making a joke (silly sounds).

I miss his sleeping smiles.

I miss his muppet imitation, where his inflexible tongue is centered in his mouth in a wide open smile, his head is tilted, and he looks so cute!

story 5.4

The family and extended family units sauntered down the road, with the exception of Atilla who was being grandly pushed in his stroller.

Phew but it was hot. He was beginning to sweat away his sunscreen and becoming very smelly. Cousin Amy promised that the Tentical Gardens was worth it. So he was being very staunch and stoic.

Brisbane was smelly of dust and exhaust and pushy people. It was very nice to receive the smiles from people, but he would much rather be at the Tentical Gardens right now.

Atilla stifled a whine. Now there was a long stretch of road ahead of them, filled with people and tables and chairs.

What's this? Oh, it was a shopping mall. With food! He perked up. Where there was food, there was the prospect of ice cream!

The air was much much much cooler in here. He wiggled his toes and luxurated in the crisp air. He looked around. There didn't seem to be that many ice cream places...how odd. That's Brisbane for ya.

Mum gave him a straw in a cup of juice. He made the best of it.

Uncle B- grinned at him with encouragement. "Look, we'll be having lunch at the Botanical Gardens in a few minutes."

Atilla smiled in return. "That sounds like great fun."

Cousin Amy took her turn in pushing his stroller. Cousin Qwerty walked beside them, keeping company. He pointed to the stands of bicycles on the side roads.

"There are bicycles at the Botanical Gardens, but not like those ones," he explained to Atilla. Atilla nodded knowingly, not knowing what he was agreeing to.

Mainly Atilla was keeping a sharp eye on the bag of lunch Dad had bought. It was swinging languidly from Dad's wrist, with the occassional precarious encounters with other pedestrians.