With No.1’s persistent visits to the hospital and the extensive, yet fruitless search for the triggers for his allergic reactions, Blue Eyes and I were lucky to find five minutes for ourselves. Ergo it was a great surprise for iDad the night that I found out we were pregnant with our second child. It had been an especially ‘challenging’ week for our little family. No.1 was going through the terrible twos, Blue Eyes was working three days per week and iDad was up to his neck with University assignments. ‘Me time’ was an esoteric concept and sleep was something only other people enjoyed. On Saturday night however, we caught a break when No.1’s sugar withdrawal abated earlier than expected and by 8:00pm he was fast asleep. Thirty seven seconds later Blue Eyes and I were beginning to doze ourselves. As I held her from behind she snuggled into me in the familiar and very comfortable ‘spoon’ position. The sandman had sprinkled his magic dust over us and although daylight saving meant it was still light outside, we were all bound for sleepy town. I kissed Blue Eyes on the back of her neck and whispered,
“Good night my honey.”
“Good night darling. Oh, guess what?”
iDad’s eye twitched involuntarily.
No.2 arrived in December that year. He was fit, healthy, brown haired, brown eyed, beautiful little baby boy and iDad was suitably chuffed. With two little namesakes my dynasty was assured. No.1 was a great help in these early days with the new baby. He was extremely adept at shoving the dummy back into No.2’s mouth with the gentle twisting motion of a deep sea drill bit from an offshore oil rig. He was also an expert at tipping No.2 out of his bassinet ‘by accident’ and did so on many occasions. In spite of all the ‘help’ No.2 managed to survive long enough to reach his first birthday. Our friends had begun having children as well so the social occasions had moved on from late night drinking and dancing to mid-morning party pies and fairy bread. In fact the only aspect of our lives that maintained any consistency was the afternoon nap on the couch. This time however it was more out of the necessity to catch up on some zzz’s as opposed to a self-inflicted need to recover.
On the day of the party No.2 was sitting quietly playing with his toy cars while No.1 made it his personal mission to taste test all the birthday treats. Chocolate frosting, hundreds-and-thousands, freckles, mini franks, sausage rolls smothered in tomato sauce, everything we suspected may be a trigger for his asthma and anything else he could get his hands on, was stuffed into his mouth and smeared over his face in an orgy of preservatives and artificial flavouring.
Our dear friends had had a baby girl in between our No.1 and No.2. She was a beautiful little blue eyed tomboy who could scale fences, climb trees and escape through windows. On top of that she had made it her personal mission to send her parents grey; and she was succeeding.
From the depths of the hallway leading to the front door of our unit we heard the deep throaty growl of a pack-a-day smoker,
No.1 dropped his third hotdog onto the dirt trying to get out of the way whilst No.2 crawled behind my legs and peered through the opening as Hurricane Cake touched down amongst the goodies on the kids table. With sauce in her hair and a jelly bean up her nose Cake showed No.1 the proper way to gorge upon party food until finally her father was able to pries her away from the table so the other kiddies could get something to eat.
Cake would have a lasting influence on our boys lives and I’ll tell you more about her another time.
As a parent one of the things you come to realise very quickly is that little children are like sponges. They pick up on every thing you say and will mimic your words perfectly; especially those things that they shouldn’t. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am not one for foul language, but after the seventh idiot had almost run us off the road even iDad was on the verge of a minor misdemeanor. With the brakes locked up and the tyres leaving a trail of rubber in our wake I let the moron have it,
“Oh fffffffffffffffffffffff…………….. for God’s sake.”
I don’t know how many times I had said it this trip but obviously No.2 had heard it more than once because from the back seat of the car came the ‘God Sakes’ song. It was a high-pitched ebullient rendition of my blasphemy that repeated the same verse over, and over, ad infinitum until finally, 300 kilometres later, we reached Coffs Harbour and could tune the radio into a station without static. Unperturbed by the driving guitar from Bad Company, little God Sakes kept singing at the top of his lungs. What started as gobbledygook finished with Blue Eyes and iDad horrified as our 18-month-old sung the chorus word perfect, ‘I feel like making love to you.’
For the most part though God Sakes was a good little boy who kept out of trouble and put up with the overzealous attention of No.1. Unfortunately Blue Eyes and I were lulled into a false sense of security with God Sakes and before too long No.3 was on the way.
Coming soon: iDad v3 – Hello Granny!
iDad © Matthew Green 2010