On Sunday, it was down to me to plan our day, and look after him, so I wanted us to have the best time possible.
First of all, he had a hearty breakfast of a full bottle and a bowl of porridge, a leisurely morning that also featured a good old fashioned bounce in his Jumperoo. Guaranteed to put a smile on his face.
Then I got him dressed, a task I always enjoy. This was followed by the epic task of packing his bag for the day. It never fails to stress me out, as you always think you are going to forget something and it usually involves running up and down the stairs a couple of times. You have to pack the bag like you're going on holiday, squeezing stuff in so it will close, followed by opening it again as you have a last minute panic that you've forgotten something.
We then drove into town, and he had his classic nap at 11am, bang on schedule. I had timed it with dadly efficiency. All going well so far, I thought. No screw ups yet.
A relaxed stroll through the town centre, via Costa Coffee for a quick gingerbread latte while he slept. Mmm. Growing in confidence here, and energy levels up, thinking I can tackle anything he throws at me as I saunter through town for a nice 15 minute walk to our next destination.
Then he met up with his friend at M-Shed for some good times. No tears or grumbling, not even a whisper. I'm thinking to myself, where is this going to go wrong?
It gets to 1pm. He's happy, I'm ecstatic, he's loving the walk, we cruise through Queens Square. I'm so chilled I even take a photo..
And then we head up to Watershed to meet up with his mummy. I get there early so I take him to the bar to order some food. I ask the guy "what can he eat?" and the guy stares at me, terrified as if I am placing a baby's life in his hands. So I reassured him "don't worry, he'll eat anything" so he plays it safe with the vegetable casserole. "Does it come with bread?" I asked. "Yes". "Is it spicy? He doesn't do spice." "No it's not spicy". "How much is it?" I ask, cautiously eyeing the £8.50 price tag on the blackboard. "We'll make you a child's portion, so it will be £4.50" he says. "Good", I say, trying not to sound too relieved. The clever guy had obviously cottoned on, this was one dad who wouldn't appreciate being ripped off.
We start eating, then his mum turns up, and we have a lovely family lunch. It's perfect. He's in great spirits, sadly the casserole is a little too herby for him, and contains his number one nemesis, parsnips. It isn't a hit, but he enjoys the bread and carrots as usual.
Then we get him home and he's on cloud nine. Smiling, laughing, happy. Having a whale of a time here with his food. I must say, I'm a real fan of baby led weaning. The proof is in the pudding - look how happy he looks.
So now you must be thinking, why is it hard being a dad? What's the problem here?
The issue I have with it is it's now Tuesday, I barely see him during the week as he's in bed when I get home and sometimes he's still in bed when I leave for work. Seeing him in the morning lifts my spirits, so today was tough as he was still asleep.
I do see him in the evenings but to be fair, it's dark in the room and he's either half asleep or too busy guzzling the bottle. I hope he knows I am there. I hope he knows I'm looking out for him. Occasionally, his little hands will grip my finger, or he will claw at my jumper. I'll take that as a yes.
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