Hi! <Waves>

Funny and honest tales from a made-to-work Dad of three, wobbling, graying, and laughing his way through parenthood. Armed to the teeth with Nerf guns, full of pie, fighting a chocolate addiction, but genuinely honoured to be at least half of Team Parents (yay!).
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6 October 2017

1-0 to BabyBoy3...

I love BabyBoy3.
I really do. With the power and heat of a billion suns. Maybe two billion.
He is an utter dude and the happiest little boy.
I hella love him.

(The cut backs to the fire service have not been exaggerated…)

I love the others too. Obvs.
Loads. But BabyBoy3 is such a jolly chap he's very easy to love. He rocks.
He doesn't grumble much, third child and all that.
He’s mostly very happy with his lot in life. As long as he’s got a toy fire engine nearby, chocolate milk coming. He’s good.
He always wants to play and have fun. Which is a lovely characteristic.
Unless it's bedtime...

<Car lands on sleeping my face>
Dudddde... <Checks Storm Trooper alarm clock>
<Cannot read clock as eyes fused together with sleep, but it's proper dark>
Dude... Go back to bed, until it's morning time...
BabyBoy3: 'Awwwww!' <Stomps off>
[Silence for ten seconds]
[Light goes on in BabyBoy3's room]
BabyBoy3: 'Brrrr POW POW! NRRRRRGGGGGHHH I LIKE THAT! Oooooo. O. O. ... etc'
<Hides head under pillow>

So there's that.
Which is still very cute and lovely really. Just Team Parent (yay!)’s natural need and desire to sleep gets in the way of BabyBoy3's late night play time.
Shame. We could have so much fun if we just didn't need to sleep.
But we do.
<Has a doze>

But there's this other thing BabyBoy3 does.
That I hate. It’s a mix of frightening, hilarious and very annoying. Particularly to me.
As for some reason it presses all my buttons.
BabyBoy3 puts his hands over his eyes. And then starts walking.
Not looking where he is going. <Eye twitches>
He giggles while he's doing it to.
It drives me bandy. He is going to hurt himself and I can’t stand it.
It’s not something he’s got from Boy10 or Miss6. This is all BabyBoy3.
His very own smeggin irritating 'skill' as it were.

And of course because three year old’s are evil geniuses.
BabyBoy3 chooses bed time to do it...

I had read BabyBoy3 his three bedtime books.
The train one he hella loves. Poop-Poop. Then that again. Another. And then because he begged so sweetly and we were having such a good time, and I’m a right sucker. Another (yes that’s four).
BabyBoy3 did promise he would go to bed straight after. No messing about. (Again sucker).
I even sang him a song at the door as I left. His song. With BabyBoy3 all snuggled under his enormous duvet (normal adult sized one, tent sized for him).
As I closed his door and said good night, he even said 'Night night Daddy'
BLESS HIM! <Squeals Has no reaction at all>

And then I headed downstairs to make a cuppa.
Where Mrs. Amazing and Boy10 were watching Simpsons. Without me.
Which I really think is hella unfair. I love The Simpsons.
Daaa da da da daaaa da da da dadadada...

(I empathise more and more with Homer…
<Destroys town with nuclear melt down, again>)

I walk past Mrs. Amazing and Boy10 finger gun shooting them both pew pew.
Planning to come back. And totes sit and laugh a bit. A probably explain some jokes to Boy10, or say every line before it happens, word for word, and then NOT explain a few jokes for Boy10 because he’s only ten. It depends on the series.
My butt was just backing into place (beep beep) when BabyBoy3 appeared at the top of the stairs. Fine. I Billy whizz upstairs and put BabyBoy3 back to bed.
He's cool about it. But I know this little boy and I wait outside his room.
Out he comes. Hands over his eyes.
Giggling.

<Grumbles Sideshow Bob stylie>
<Gets rake in the face>
It's dark. And BabyBoy3 is not looking where he is going. He's giggling. There's stairs nearby.
All in all he has triggered my Dad DANGER-RADAR (I have one, it’s awesome) so I tell him off a bit and then chuck place him back in bed.
Big mistake.

I did it wrong.
I told BabyBoy3 off wrong. What I tried to say was: What you're doing is dangerous. Stop it.
What BabyBoy3 clearly heard was: I LOVE THIS GAME! LET’S PLAY FOR HOURS!!!

For the next thirty minutes.
He followed me around the house. Whilst I was sorting laundry. When I went downstairs to get a cuppa and raid the chocolate cupboard.
As I was telling Mrs. Amazing about the dangerous thing BabyBoy3 is doing.
Wherever I went BabyBoy3 would come giggling along, hands over eyes, crashing into things, hurting himself. Not badly. But there were a few tears.
At one point he had a right ol' boo about how he had hurt his face.
Because he walked into a wall.
My sympathies were low. All out in fact.
I didn't say 'good' because that would be mean.
But I did say 'because you were not looking where you are going you lemon'.

An hour later BabyBoy3 has just banged into me again.
I'm back upstairs finishing off the laundry. He falls and bangs his bum. More tears.
BabyBoy3 is now knackered but still giggling.
My tolerance for this game. This stupid dangerous game.
Has run out. I cannot ignore him anymore.
It's freaking me out watching him clatter into things. I've taken most of the contents of his room away. His table lamp went in the first few minutes. All his toys. His teddies are in my room. In the hopes that removing them would shock him out of this game.
Nothing has worked.

BabyBoy3: <Leaves bedroom, covers eyes, and giggling walks into me>
<Internally> ARGHGGGGHGHGHHHHHH!
<Externally explodes>

I have run out of ideas.
I have nothing else to try. I've ignored him for years, it seems. I've silently put him back to bed like a good bed-returning robot (see here).
I've read him stories. Nothing has worked.
My stress levels are hella high. I'm sure there's more than one vein throbbing on my head.
I am beaten.

I head downstairs.
My little shadow giggling behind me. For reference BabyBoy3 isn't a fool, he doesn't cover his eyes on the stairs. Just when he’s near them.
I stand in front of Mrs. Amazing and explain that whilst I love BabyBoy3 to bits.
If he walks into me one more time, or gets out of bed one more time.
I may throw him out of the window lock him in the shed, not the fun one, the one with all the spiders I may flatten him into a pancake lose my temper.

(Go sit on the naughty step…
...I'll help you up...
Comfy? Good...
[TWANG])

Mrs. Amazing hears me.
She sees the twitching in my eye. Hears the strain in my voice.
And she wisely doesn't laugh too much when BabyBoy3 crashes into me again.
Hands still over his eyes.

I go make a cuppa.
Mrs. Amazing takes BabyBoy3, calmly, back up to bed.
She is back down in five minutes. I've a fresh cuppa and I've very firmly cleaned the kitchen.
Mrs. Amazing reports that BabyBoy3 is fast asleep...

WHAT?
What magic did you do?
What did you do to him. Did you use my convincing hammer?
How did you do that? In five minutes?
TELL ME ENCHANTRESS!
Mrs. Amazing: 'I bopped him with a pillow till he slept'
Mrs. Amazing: 'I just sat with him... then he fell asleep...'
Right...
...
... I didn't try that...
...
Damn it.
X

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