Smaggie

My Smaller Half and I became bogans yesterday for the day.  It was a bit like that Bowie song, We can be heroes, except boganish because we ate at Ikea.

We took the Hatchling along for a shopping trip because my Smaller Half wanted to suss out ... something ... I can't remember what it was any more, because we emerged blinking into the sunlight 3 hours later with some picture frames, a hanging photo thing that looks like a roll of film, and some fabric.  I almost bought some fake bamboo plants but it was wrestled out of my hands by my Smaller Half who failed to appreciate my primal urge to cannibalize Ikea products to make wargames terrain.  Tragic.

Anyway, after we'd been careening around for a while looking at Molger, Stokki, Ribbi, Svalbo and the other Swedish dwarves, the Hatchling decided that she really needed to be fed RIGHT NOW so we plonked ourselves down in the cafe and plugged her in.  Then I discovered that Ikea sells bottomless cups of coffee for a buck ninety five.  Even the worst coffee in the world is a bargain at that price.  (Side node: why is it called "bottomless"?  It's a very poor analogy indeed. A bottomless cup would be absolutely useless and you'd get nothing to drink at all.)  So I filled up on cheap coffee which was actually about 3 stars out of 5, so not the worst coffee I've had recently.

Oh, and the reason I've been banging on about Ikea at all is that the checkout chick's name tag said "Smaggie".  I asked her if her name was really Smaggie, and she said that it was a nickname because her real name was very long.  I said that Smaggie sounded just like an Ikea product and I'd thought that maybe the staff all Ikea-ize their names.  Smaggie just gave me a funny look.  I thought it was a fair question though.

My philosophy of life

When I was young I thought that life was like a simile.  Now I think it's a metaphor.  But I'll probably end my days thinking it's a synecdoche.

Tech support

I got an email this afternoon from the Fine University reminding me that I'm supposed to submit a form to get approval for my elective 6 weeks before it starts.  And it starts in less than 2 weeks.  Oops.  I really really really don't want to miss this elective because I'll get to fly in helicopters and jump out of submarines and kill snakes to drink my own urine from their freshly stripped skins and so on.  So I quickly grep up the form and try to print it.  But I'm at my Aged Mother's house for Christmas and nothing here works exactly as advertised so, as unlikely as it may seem, I go to my Aged Mother for tech support...

PTR
Mum, does your printer work?

Aged Mother
Err, why?

PTR
Because I want to print something.

Aged Mother
Oh well, it works off and on.

PTR
So you're saying I should try it and see what happens?

Aged Mother
Yes

PTR
It's not working.  It says the cartridge is broken.

Aged Mother
Yes, it's been doing that for a while now.

PTR
So when you said it worked off and on, you really meant that it used to work and now it doesn't.

Aged Mother
Yes, that's right.

Vital statistics

People have been demanding that I publicly release the all-important birth parameters of the Hatchling.  So here they are.

Age: zero.
Density: 1.01 kg/m3
Temperature: 310.15 K
Head circumference: 0.0001836 nautical miles
Resistance: > 1000 ohms
Str 3
Int 18
Wis 12
Dex 4
Con 16
Cha 25

It's a hard life

It's a tough gig being a dad.

First, there's the whole birth thing.  We went into the hospital after midnight and I kept being woken up by these bloody midwives who were coming into the room to check on my Smaller Half.  And I didn't even have the nice comfy hospital bed that my Smaller Half had - just a scuzzy fold-out arm-chair.  And when I tried to take blankets from the blanket warmer to snuggle up in, they told me that those were for newborn babies only and made me put them back.

Nobody paid me any attention at all.  They just kept asking if my Smaller Half was okay and they offered her painkillers and foot rubs and swiss ball rides and aromatherapy whereas I got not so much as a chupachup.

And as for the rest of the day, it was a nightmare.  Breakfast was okay but there was no honey for my cereal.  And I didn't get any coffee until after lunch, which I didn't get to eat anyway because all the panicky doctors took the table away.  And the only reason I got coffee at all was because during a part of the birthing process that I didn't like the look of I excused myself and went across the road for a break.  And anyway, when I got back, feeling much better and more alert, it was still going on.  Man.

Then there's whole baby thing.  That's tough for dads.  While my Smaller Half is having a great time breast-feeding every few hours, I have to awaken up to twice each night to change the Hatchling's nappy - a task which takes up to 5 minutes each and every time.  It's debilitating.

And is the Hatchling grateful?  No, I do not believe so.  She gave me this look today when I picked her up.  She opened her eyes and sneered at me as if to say, "Oh, it's you.  Sure, you may be good for entertainment but you certainly aren't very nutritious.  Not like the other one."

I tried to explain Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs to her and pointed out that I was providing the upper four levels, with a particular emphasis on self-actualisation through my special program of hot-housing which I'm pretty sure will succeed in getting her into an astronaut suit by 15 or 16, and that food would be provided to her contingent on her continued progress through her educational programme.  But she just kept trying to suck my fingers so I gave up and handed her to my Smaller Half and grabbed some much-needed zzzz's.

Super Friends redux

Oooh, how exciting!  Today the Hatchling made a new friend: Holly.

L to R: Willie Nelson, Racially Sensitive Gollywog, Fiennes the Giralph, Holly, Mankey Monkey, Elzee Waverider (front)

From the family album #7

Dot, sister-in-law.
You can see where the Hatchling
Gets her fine looks from!

Super Friends

For someone who has only been around for 10 days, the Hatchling has already accumulated a healthily diverse range of pals.

L to R: Willie Nelson, Racially Sensitive Golliwog, Mankey Monkey, Fiennes the Giralph, and (front) Elzee Waverider the Ballerina Mouse.

Meet the Hatchling

The arrival of the Hatchling has caused much excitement in our families.  We'll be going home for Christmas to my Aged Mother's place which will be the first time that everyone else will get to meet her in the flesh.  Until then we are stringing them along with a drip-feed of photos every couple of days to illustrate astonishing developmental milestones such as lying on her left, lying on her right, kicking her feet, wearing a cute new outfit, being held by various people, and being generally gorgeous.

I was particularly amused this morning to receive a photo back from the Clan with this picture, a robot version of the Hatchling constructed spontaneously and surprisingly accurately by one of her talented cousins out of Lego:

Welcome to the world

Okay, so the people have spoken!  They demanded, in the most recent poll, that I have a baby girl and I, in my wisdom, did so order my Smaller Half.  And fortunately, that's exactly what happened or else I would have ended up looking pretty silly and my sense of masculine authority over the reproductive outcomes of mine own loins would have been severely compromised.

So yeah, my Smaller Half and I are the proud parents of a leetle baby girl.

Yay!

What should we have?

Okay, so this baby is coming soon and I still haven't decided whether to tell my Smaller Half to have a girl or a boy.  I'm such a terrible procrastinator.  Help me make up my mind by voting in the poll to the right.  Once a clear majority emerges I shall issue instructions post-haste, so vote promptly, because I really should get this finalized.