Oh sit down, oh sit down, oh sit down.


Before I start – that is not my toenail painted foot.

My Son has recently discovered he can sit up by himself. This, to me, is the equivalent of him passing his driving test, or getting a job. It’s a ‘milestone’ by most parenting standards, and it makes me terribly proud of him, regardless of the amount of time he can currently sit up for.

Hi managing to sit up reminded me of a particular ‘bad dad’ moment I was guilty of a couple of months back, and one that truely epitomises the phrase ‘Turn your back for a second’

A bit of backstory information beforehand, in order to set the scene:

My son, when too excited, ‘does a sick’ – which in normal language is defined by him puking down himself, a bit irresponsible of him, to be honest. This generally happens half an hour after feeding, when I’m doing my best to make him smile, which usually involves me gurning like a prat in front of him until I get my desired reaction.

We have a large, deep seated leather sofa in our living room (It’s brown, although this fact is pointless for this story) If I sit to the back of it, my legs don’t touch the ground. Mind you, I’m only slightly taller than a Smurf, so this shouldn’t be really an accurate gauge of how deep seated the sofa is. Look, just know that it’s a deep sofa, and that it is brown.

So, backstory done, onto how one morning, I became a poor parent.

My morning (or mouring, depending on how you look at it) schedule, as you may know by now, is we are awoken at 5am by our pride and joy, shouting at us through the bars of his cage (cot) that he’s pooed himself and needs changing. I will comply with his demands. Claire then feeds him, then I take him downstairs for a couple of hours while Claire gets some sleep. At 7, Claire comes downstairs and we hang out as a family for an hour before I go to work. It’s been this way for about 2 months.

This particular morning went off fairly normal. Ned awoke, I changed him (no ‘up the back’ situation this time – he must have been feeling generous) Claire fed him and I took him downstairs.

For some bizzare reason – and to this day, I don’t know why I did it – I decided to sit him propped in the corner of the sofa instead of laying him on his play mat – I think it was because I fancied a change of routine, or maybe I thought he was ready for some sitting training, I’m not sure. I propped him in the corner of the sofa, sat up, and
placed his faveourite toy (A blue handkerchief – no, I don’t know why either) between his legs.

I watched him, sat there in his new position, admiring my son for allowing me to entertain myself by watching him perform the most basic of physical activity. I then spotted out of the corner of my eye a babywipe on the floor, which I turned to pick up, without even thinking.

When I turned back around, my son was face down in a small puddle of sick, smiling and rubbing his nose in it.

To be honest, as I rushed to pick him up, I was slightly impressed at a few things – one, that he’d waited until the exact moment I turned my back, and two, that he’d not only been sick, but managed to fall forward, breaking his fall with his face, in just under a second. This shows a level of tactical awareness and speed that surpasses anything I can do, and I’m an adult with full control over my mind and body.

I did, of course, feel awful, the fact that I’d even turned my back on him made me feel sick – I couldn’t believe I’d done it, and I can’t believe I didn’t think that my 4 month old son would be fine, even for a second, propped up in the corner of my sofa. I certainly never did it again.

Going back to the start of my post, Ned has been developing at such a fast pace, it’s hard to keep up – I haven’t even talked about how much he’s ‘talking’ his newfound ability to move in his walker, and his strange interest in ripping paper, but those may be for another time.

Just know that my son can sit up, and he pukes when he’s excited. I think that’s enough information for anyone to take in, really.


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