Even a stunt mole without its glasses wouldn’t have missed the fact we’ve been rather quiet in recent months – but don’t let that fool you that there’s been nothing worthy of reporting.
If you got the subtle children’s TV reference in that opening line, chances are your household is suffering from the same addition we’ve developed in our four-month break.
Hey Duggee has taken over our and ‘s rarely an hour goes by without soon-to-be-two Albie jabbing the Amazon remote in our direction shouting ‘Dug’ with increasing volume, before launching into teenager mode and ignoring the surrounding world as his sticky hands are – literally – glued to the TV unit.
The knock-on effect of Duggee’s disease is that it creeps into adult life. Someone in the office had soup for lunch last week, prompting a fellow sufferer and I to channel our inner Alan l’Odeurs and exclaim ‘SOUP?! How frightfully dull’ to the bemusement of those with a social life.
Addiction and ‘early-stage tantrum-itis’ gloriously collided recently when, while watching the lovable badge-wearing pooch, he had a full-on screaming fit when we gently explained he couldn’t watch ‘Dug’…because it was already on!
At least Duggee has suppresed the boy’s life of crime.
Extracting him from the lounge and into town, Hanna and Albie enjoyed a trip into town, including a scouting mission for birthday treats to the toy shop.
The trip passed without note until, when arriving at the top of the multi-storey car park, Albie produced his new cuddly companion – a small Bing teddy – from the depths of his cosytoes. Needless to say he was soon marched back to the shop to pay for his stolen goods in a fruitless attempt to instil values he clearly hadn’t learned from watching his favourite programme.
He hates Bing. If Bing’s on TV, he demands ‘Dug’ (secretly glad, Bing’s a right moany little s***!). He loves toy Bing. Bing this, Bing that. Now, Small Bing has been joined by Big Bing after the trauma of seeing Small Bing whirling round the washing machine, after receiving the projectile vomit treatment I endured on an almost daily basis.
Albie avoided the police car for now…but he compensated with his debut ride in an ambulance.
After more funny breathing, rising fever and concerning shaking, a precautionary 111 call became a trip to hospital in a non-urgent ambulance, prompting several hours in A&E before being sent home at gone 1am with the all-clear.
Fortunately, he’s in a much better place in health terms than he has been. He’s made progress on weight, now hovering around the 9th centile – up from the 0.4th, while maintaining his titchiness being ‘just below the 0.4th centile’ for height.
There’s been progress up the milk ladder, with exciting foods like lasagne now on the menu. He’s now tolerating things with milk and cheese baked into them (roughly stage four on the six-stage iMap Milk Ladder), with his only recent puking party prior to his trip in the ambulance as his temperature hit 39.4C+.
Moving up the ladder means we can be a little more relaxed about the stuff we’re giving him and it’s easier to cook a family meal.
He’s not able to have proper milk, yet, so he drinks Oatly oat milk. That’s apart from when he’s nicking our McDonald’s iced frappe latte and showing off his straw skills while we chase him through the house. He’s not supposed to have chocolate yet, either, but his nappies after stealing some of my chocolate buttons the other day weren’t explosive – leaving only the petty thefts to address.
I wish I could tell you how stage five – yoghurt – is progressing. If only he would eat the yoghurt. Fair enough avoiding our homemade butter chicken this week. Even I did. But shunning the attractively packaged cheap Frubes is a little frustrating!
No shunning crisps or chips, however. He can sniff out a McDonald’s by recognising the rough location, shouting ‘CHIPS’ before the golden arches come into sight in a sad indictment of our parenting.
That’s a potted summary of our last few family months. There’s lots to catch up on, and I will update the blog as regularly as possible. It’s hard to believe Albie will be two next weekend. Don’t expect a fancy post about ‘party planning on a budget’ – that’s gone right out the window as we gear up for a mummy-led Duggee extravaganza. Brexit is probably working out cheaper…