Sunday, May 27, 2007

all about daddys day

This post is all about the wonderful, loving, creative, clever and goofy Keith and what kind of a Daddy he's becoming.

Every morning Ivy wakes us up around 7 and gets into bed with us to play morning games like 'Baby on a Crane' and 'Touch Daddy's Nose'. I get up and feed her about 7.30 and at around 8am, Keith goes on duty. While I wallow in the bath with a cup of tea and a library book, Keith and Ivy take a walk around the garden , checking out what's growing, how the veges are doing, which flowers are in bloom. They always pick ten weeds from the lawn under the orange tree and sit on the steps for a while to look for ants and feel the sun. Keith puts Ivy back to bed for her morning sleep and we both start our days: him to the office and me to the house.

At intervals throughout the day Ivy and I will stick our heads in for a kiss. At lunchtime there might be time for a play but his day really finishes about 6pm when he comes back on daddy duty - into the middle of the grizzly hour, where Ivy often morphs into The Baby Who Cannot Be Pleased. We hang out together, helping Ivy play with her blocks, her books and her Banana. She can pull herself up to standing holding Daddy's thumbs, and looks around the room with proud excitement for an audience every time she does it. Lately Keith's been playing piano and guitar with her, and she loves to rumble.

We wrangle Ivy in turns here. Keith takes breaks to play online chess and check the cricket scores, while I potter around making dinner, swimming in my second bath or working on projects. At 7 I try to get Keith to play in his office so I can enjoy the secret shame of Big Brother with the volume low. (Keith refuses to share the same room with it). Dinner is usually middle-eastern style, on the rug, while Ivy clutches toys and watches intently.

8pm is bedtime. Together we put Ivy in her Wondersuit and then wrap her like a sausage in her cot-sheet swaddle. We takes turns doing bedtime. When it's Daddys turn, he gets in the big bed, and tucks Ivy in close. Then he'll read Dr Suess' sleep book (which, by now, we both know off by heart). On a good night she's asleep before the end. On a bad one she is still squirming. Lately, she cranes her head right around to grin at the knotholes on the wall behind that look like a face.

When she's finally asleep Daddy creeps out. At eleven we wake her for a final feed and then transfer her to her bassinet in the corner, where she'll sleep until 7 to start all over again.

Ivy is a lucky baby - in the great lottery, she got an excellent, excellent dad.

1 comment:

Thanks for talking to me. I don't got cooties. Oh, except for when I got cooties.