Shoot for the stars

I haven't been posting lately, mainly because the bond between father and son is too beautiful to write about. Our magical family moments are like shooting stars, so dazzling and yet so brief; who am I to drag them back to earth?

Ok ok, I'm just really lazy. Happy now?

Luca's been very busy though, learning, amongst other things, to style his own hair:

He's also been working on a range of new and slightly demented facial expressions, the favourite being the 'laugh-cry', a Mona Lisa-inspired tilt for when he can't decide if he's happy or sad.

And eating. Oh the eating. Any adult who's ever sat through a crap meal must be jealous of the way he can subtly express his displeasure by spitting the offending dish into his hand and rubbing it into his own eyes.

Most of the time he loves food. When he doesn't, we nurture him through mealtimes with the sheer force of our goodness. Either that or just stick the laptop on and stuff food into his mouth before he has time to think about it.

Don't judge us. 'Pingu Goes Snowboarding' is actually very educational.

Having a quick check around my favourite baby blogs, I am amazed and a bit ashamed to note that Mum's yoga and baby buddy Emily is still posting on The Shock of the Two almost daily. Despite have twice as many babies and even more chaotic mealtimes. Some bloggers are just dedicated.

Long day, little tantrum

I saw a man swear at the driver as he got off a bus and kick the door as it drove away, all with a sleeping baby in his arms while the mother watched. Fairly disgraceful behaviour. The main problem is that the man was me, and the baby was Luca.

Ashamed? Thoroughly. But what is wrong with London bus drivers? They are a miserable bunch of ****s, that's what. No, I shouldn't generalise. But they are. Each and every unhelpful, ignorant last one of them.

This particular driver point-blank refused Mum's request to get off through the front doors, forcing her back through an assault course of other prams, rowdy teenagers and elderly folk of limited mobility. All while I looked on helpless, trying to prevent Luca from waking up and realising how long it had been since he last fed.

Given the opportunity to ease the passage of fellow Londoners with the simple press of a button, most of us would press the button. Most of us.

It had been a long and hellish day - a round trip across London and through throngs of people on broken public transport, all on a 'glorious' hot and sticky day in the city.

Although it was worth it to meet a new arrival and Luca's youngest friend:

Getting on like a house on fire and not, in any way, slung together for a cute photo opp to amuse the grown-ups.

Mum sailed through the long, long day with her usual heroic calm. Luca was only mildly annoyed at the extended use of a boiling hot tube:

I thought I was fine. Then I threw my toys out of my pram, almost literally. You live and learn.