With extra webbing
Me: I’m here to sign my son up for swimming classes.
Receptionist: What’s his name?
Me: Finn Tomes.
Receptionist: And . . . which classes has he completed?
Me: Jellyfish and Frogs.
Receptionist: Right. Let me just check whether he’s due to graduate to Penguins.
(She goes off to mutter at someone and returns.)
Receptionist: We’ll put him back in Frogs this term-
Me: EXCUSE ME?
Receptionist: We’ll put him back-
Me: Oh, I HEARD YOU. Look. I don’t mean to be some pushy parent; but my son is QUITE CLEARLY a PENGUIN.
Receptionist: Oh.
Me: Yes.
Me: He’s been swimming all summer*- he’s half-baby half-fish. Like some sort of baby-fish mutant hybrid. With extra webbing.
Receptionist: Um. We can only go on what the instructor says-
Me: Well, on the assessment form from his last class, he scored top marks on everything except monkey-monkey supported and kicking in a supine position – so I don’t know what HER problem is.
Me: I feel you’re holding him back.
Receptionist: I’ll just- maybe- would you like to speak to the manager?
Me: I should think so. *SNIFF!*
(After 15 minutes arguing compellingly and evidently persuasively about Finn’s potential for long-distance swimming or at least flotation):
Manager: We have a free slot in the Tuesday Penguin class-
Me: That’ll do.
Manager: How do you spell Finn? F- I- N- N-
Me: Wait- wait- sorry. Do you- do you really think Finn should re-swim the Frog class?
Manager: Well, he’s still very young-
Me: I’m worried maybe I’m pushing him too far too fast.
Manager: (speechless)
Me: I’m conflicted about the type of parenting methodology I should adopt.
Me: Perhaps he’d better go back in the Frogs.
* I threw him into a wave once or twice
How to apply effective pointy finger
I hope everyone is looking forward to a surpassingly excellent Christmas and brewing up an extra-strong cup of kindness for welcoming in the new year.
Wait- one moment please- I’m getting some breaking news from my online feed. Oh. It appears I’m a little belated. Seriously? Is it 2013 already? Are you SURE? Doesn’t feel like it. Never mind; at least I can throw out my extra-strong cup of kindness, which smells like composted grass.
If you didn’t get a Christmas card from us, it’s because the dog ate it. Also, my new android phone is obviously too high-tech for postal addresses, since it dumped them all when I imported my contacts.
Better get on with compiling new years resolutions. Starting with:
1. Better excuses.
So, how is everyone? Sorry it’s been ages since my last update-
2. Blog more frequently.
But in my defense-
3. Less excuses; quality not quantity. Refer to resolution (1).
-after hangin’ with John Key, it’s hard to write a sequel.
4. Meet a(nother) national treasure e.g. The Topp Twins.
(Although should we ever bump into the yodeling lesbian twins specializing in comical country music, I might never blog again because I’d know such an experience could never be surpassed. Maybe I should aim to meet Dave Dobbyn – or simply stick to three resolutions. That’s plenty.)
We have enjoyed the most amazing, exhilarating, thrilling year and I’m quite exhausted – but I can’t wait to see what treats 2013 has lined up for us.
Our little boy turned one last week and it’s difficult to recall what our lives were like before him.
Watching him grow is a remarkable experience. In the space of only six months, he has progressed from lying on the floor punching himself in the face to- well, mainly punching me in the face, instead- but also: rolling, crawling, standing and chortling – especially when swinging in the playground.
He never stays still and changing his nappy is a writhing, squirming, flailing conflagration of legs and hands and bottom.
Unfortunately, the way he expresses love can be somewhat violent. At the moment, our family catch-phrases include, ‘No biting, just kissing’ and ‘Use your gentleness for good not evil’. Also: ‘GAH NOT THE GLASSES!’
Finn now puts his arms around my neck and plays with my hair while snuggling – which is lovely until he concludes cuddles by sinking his teeth (all two of them) into my shoulder.
I had no idea how babies got around to speaking, but subconsciously I rather expected Finn to turn around one day and say, “While you’re at the fridge, Old Girl, would you mind passing the Roquefort?” Months ago, his adoring grandmother claimed Finn had an extensive lexicon, but it’s only been relatively recently he credibly says ‘mama’, ‘dada’, ‘dog’ and ‘uh-oh’.
He’s a sociable little fella, ready with a smile and pointy finger for everyone. A keen and talented grocery shopper, Finn flirts shamelessly with the check-out assistants.
He adores his father and practically leaps out of my arms to get to Andrew to confide how I beat and starve him.
However, it’s comforting that I’m still his favourite person upon whom to wipe his nose.
It is such a privilege to love him. Finn is a funny, joyful, generous little boy and caring for him is a gift. I still can’t quite believe how fortunate we are to be able to share his life.
The Greatness
Here’s how it all came about: it was last Friday, and we were trying to avoid Charles and Camilla. They are apparently atrocious bores so you don’t want to get stuck with them at a party or, for that matter, a Canterbury A&P Show.
We were lurking outside the showground when we bumped into John Key – or more accurately, one of his security detail.
“Quick!” I said, “Get Finn out of his stroller so I can introduce him to John Key.”
Andrew was disappointingly reluctant.
“Come on, Niamhie,” he said. “He’s got better things to do-”
“Like what? Kissing babies is his job-”
“Running the country is his job,” said Andrew primly.
I snorted. Well, John Key quite obviously wasn’t waiting on an imminent fax from Vladimir Putin; he also happened to be snogging a baby at that moment, which I felt somewhat undermined Andrew’s argument.
“Look,” I said, “I think it’s really selfish of you to deprive your son of the opportunity to meet John Key.”
“What makes New Zealand great is that celebrities can walk around unmolested.”
HUH?
FIRSTLY, John Key isn’t a celebrity; he’s a politician. Secondly, what makes New Zealand great is bungee jumping and Sauron The Dark Lord. And thirdly, these things make New Zealand really pretty awesome but hardly ‘great’. I’m not dissing my chosen home; it’s just that there are very few countries that qualify as ‘great’. In fact I can think of just two: The USA, due to its size and Davy Crockett; and England, because it says so in the title, but also because, you know, Genghis Khan.
Husband eventually capitulated, mainly because I started whining and threatened to sulk.
Johnny is SUCH a dude. No really; I like him. People were swarming around shoving their children at him – many with chocolaty hands – and although there was a touch of rigor mortis about his smile, it never faltered. He wasn’t that sweaty even though it was a hot, sunny day and he was stuffed into a suit.
I had no intention of foisting my cranky, squirming progeny on him, but Johnny seized Finn and didn’t drop him once. He fully complied with my request to ‘show some teeth’.
This is the result of a photo op that lasted about 3 milliseconds:

Husband says it looks like I am throwing my baby at John Key, which I completely did. You gotta be quick since he moves INSANELY fast
Not only did Finn get touched by greatness, I got in a quick grope so you might say I also touched the greatness
Excellent source of reindeer ears
Me: *yawn* ’Night. I’m off to bed.
Husband: It’s 11:00pm. I thought you were going to get to bed earlier?
Me: Yes. BUT.
Me: I was doing something really very extremely important.
Husband: That right?
Me: Yes. And also, time-critical.
Husband: You were reading Dear Prudence?
Me: NO!
Me: I did that this morning.
Husband: Go on then -what was it?
Me: I would tell you, except I’m concerned you won’t appreciate the grave importance-
Husband: All right*.
Me: Ok then; I was looking up elf outfits for Finn.
Husband: . . .
Me: For Christmas.
Husband: You can’t make your child a prop**!
Me: Ooh, I think you’ll find I totally can.
Me: There’s the CUTEST little elf suit on Trademe, but it’s to fit age 3-6 months. Why, why couldn’t Finn have been born four to seven months LATER? Damn him.
Husband: You’re not one of these people who send out cards with pictures of their kids dressed up, are you?
Me: No, no; I already have an idea for our Christmas cards.
Husband: Which is?
Me: Finn as Scrooge holding a sign which says ‘Fuck Christmas’.
Me: What d’you think?
Me: Genius, huh?
Husband: And you’re going to send this out to your family, are you? And my grandparents?
Me: No, I’ll send them the card with Finn in his elf suit. Hey, that reminds me; we must get a Santa hat for our dog-
Husband: We already have one.
Me: CLASS.
* It annoys the crap out of me when Husband pretends like he doesn’t hang on my every word.
** I have no idea what Husband thought this was all about
Extreme push-up
With the hours devoted to feeding, changing, bathing and trying to avoid getting my baby stuck down the side of the sofa (amongst other pressing health and safety concerns), I hadn’t given much consideration to Finn’s mobility.
I’d always assumed crawling would be a spontaneous action. One day Finn would decide he’d had enough of lying around the floor waving his legs in the air and I’d turn around and – argh! where’s the baby? Is he stuck down the side of the sofa? No; where the- I was sure I left him RIGHT THERE – and after frantically scouring the house and surrounds, I’d find him scudding up the driveway like a giant centipede, only with 96 less legs.
I mean, what would I know? The vast depth and range of the number of ways in which I don’t have a clue continues to astonish me.
As it turned out, learning to crawl was an extensive process with several phases.
I suppose the first step was Finn learning to roll. At about two months old, he mastered transitioning from his back onto his front, but not the reverse. After a few weeks in prone position microscopically examining the carpet, the novelty grew stale. In any case, there was plenty to keep him occupied on his back, like pointing at the ceiling and dropping toys on his head.
When he mastered full rotation, he would tuck his legs beneath him and, with arms akimbo, press his face fervently into the floor. Either he was practicing yoga or our carpet smells fabulous (which seems unlikely given the volume of drool generated between dog and baby).
Some time later, Finn progressed to raising himself up on his arms and the tips of his toes and waving his arse in the air, a maneuver generally concluded by head-butting the floor. The marines should totally adopt this variation of power press-up if they really want to demonstrate how tough they are.
After that, Finn seemed to spend his (considerable) free time over several days on all fours rocking back and forth and occasionally executing little bunny-hops.
With all the momentum, it was something of a surprise when he did start moving – backwards. Staring intently at some object of desire (the dog, anything shiny, sharp and/or pointy), he would reverse steadily away from it looking increasingly bemused.
The only way he could move in the right direction was in the manner of some mortally wounded creature, using one arm to claw desperately across the floor, his body dragging uselessly behind him.
Now Finn’s crawl is an action of measured precision, executed with deadly speed. When he stalks the iPad carelessly left lying around the ground, one can see all the savage beauty of a cheetah springing on its prey. He disappears out an open door with the supple grace of a gazelle bounding across the savannah (note: prior to its encounter with the cheetah).














