Videogames portrayal in TV shows.

Some people will argue that watching too much TV will make you stupid. That's partly accurate. If you use prime-time TV shows to learn about the real world, you will irreparably damage your brain. Then again, the dumber you get, the more enjoyable TV shows become. If you know nothing about medicine, law and basic science, shows like CSI, Grey's Anatomy and Ally McBeal feel believable. But as soon as TV shows start dealing with something you know a lot about, the believability crumbles away.

In my case it's videogames. Almost every time a videogame is portrayed in a TV show I cringe and find myself filing many mental notes, including a note about what a nerd I am.

Even when it's close enough, such as the World of Warcraft episode of South Park, "Make Love, Not Warcraft". The episode was created in collaboration with WoW's creators Blizzard Entertainment, but as someone who played the game quite a bit in the past (I know, don't go there) I could spot places where the game wasn't portrayed correctly. You can't level up by killing weak creatures in the same area forever!  Not even slowly. At some point they'll be too low level for you to gain any experience from. (See? Nerd.) At least Trey and Matt got the social commentary aspect spot on, as they often do.

Then you have guilty pleasures like Ghost Whisperer where the bad portrayal of videogames and virtual worlds is consistent with the show's apparent dedication to be perfectly dim in every possible way. When Melinda enters a 3D social network as a 3D avatar and gets into a super hero fight with a 3D avatar controlled  by a ghost in the episode "Ghost in the Machine" you don't find yourself thinking that this is the most annoyingly idiotic thing you have ever seen in your entire life, because if you did you would've stopped watching Ghost Whisperer after a couple of episodes. Jennifer Love-Hewitt gets to show some cleavage, wear a funny wig and indulge in cheap special effects that make Smallville look slick, so not all is lost.

 Intelligent and witty shows like House also can't avoid having a videogame episode. The same formula repeats every episode: a patient is diagnosed with a weird condition. The team keeps diagnosing it wrong until near the end House has an epiphany when he talks about something completely different, usually with Wilson. Still, you ignore that fact and enjoys the show because it is so well written and acted. When the overall writing is good you find yourself to be much more forgiving about unrealistic aspects. That's why I overlooked the terrible portrayal of a virtual reality videogame in the episode "Epic Fail". Pre-rendered 3D animation that didn't look at all videogamey and VR controls that didn't make any sense. Considering the atrocities out there in TV land, this was actually not that bad.

The most annoying portrayal of videogames I have ever seen, though, must be CSI Miami's "Urban Hellraisers". The show features a GTA-like game that players then emulate in real life as the thrills of killing virtual characters just weren't enough for them anymore. Wolfe plays the game to find out where the criminals will strike next. Each time he unlocks a new level they get a clue where the attackers will go next. I guess CSI's advanced computers don't have access to websites like gamefaqs.com where you can read the solutions for practically ever game out there. Fortunately for the crime scene investigators, the game is super linear. Any time you play the game, exactly the same chain of events takes place. I watched the episode and tried imagining playing the game in my head and I just couldn't. Seems to be a co-operative 3D shooter that is also competitive based on score. The game, both the virtual and the real life equivalent, make no sense whatsoever.

Then again, this is CSI. You don't need to be a rocket scientist to know when they are being ridiculous. For example, zooming into a grainy security footage to get the reflection from someone's eyeball or scanning a 2D image straight into a 3D model. You must turn a blind eye to the occasional bad science if you're to survive more than two consecutive episodes. Often there's a fun mystery in the heart of the episode that makes it worth it.

But what really got to me was the vilifying of videogames as murder simulators.  The players get massive bonus points for killing innocent civilians and they are happy to do to that in real life because videogames have numbed their moral compass blah blah blah. This comes from a show that uses murders on a tri-weekly base as a source for slick entertainment, including the occasional murder of children. That's without mentioning the many CSI games out there. If the CSI games are anything like the game portrayed in the CSI episode, I think I'll steer clear.

This is just from the top of my head. I'm sure there are lots of other cringingly great examples. Got any?

--Mickey

Gay Dad

The main reason for this blog was to write about the unique experiences of a gay father. So far, fortunately, we've had very few of those. Looking back at all the significant experiences, there was nothing gay about them. We mentioned we were gay parents wherever we took our son (like nursery) just to make sure we got it out of the way at the start to avoid any nasty surprises later and so far absolutely everyone was OK with it.

Probably just dumb luck, but regardless, we have encountered zero homophobia as parents. So far anyway. It's all fine and dandy. I'm all for fighting for gay rights and breaking down doors, I just don't want to use my own son as a battering ram. Some shit will hit some fan at some point, I guess, but  for now I enjoy our family's peaceful existence.

There was also no homophobic comments on my blog yet either.  Not even one. Maybe that's more to do with the fact that my blog get less visitors than a Texas science museum.

Again, not complaining.  Just observing.

--Mickey

Teach Your Baby to Read

Blake isn’t quite speaking yet, which is quite natural for babies growing up in a bilingual household. Additionally, we talk to him mostly in English which isn’t a mother tongue for either of us. When Miron was chatting about it to a friend in New Zealand she suggested the book How To Teach Your Baby To Read as a way to stimulate him and encourage development that will also help with talking.

 

My initial thought was “Whatever”. Some new age crap that belongs on the same bookshelf as “Cleanse Your Baby’s Aura” and “Teach Your Baby To Read Minds”. Babies reading? Pfft, give me a break.

Miron got Teach Your Baby To Read and Teach Your Baby Math and I started reading the reading book just out of curiosity.

I was hooked right away. The book was approaching things from a purely neurological point of view and was very convincing. Take that statement with a grain of salt as all my knowledge in the field comes from watching McDreamy perform brain surgeries on Grey’s Anatomy. Still, it's very well argued and explained very clearly.

I can’t quite summarize the book in one blog post, especially since I’ll butcher it all up and make it sound crap, but the gist of it is quite simple. Glenn Doman explains that the brain develops at its most rapid pace from the inception of the baby until the age six. In the year between five to six alone the brain will develop more than it will from six onwards for the rest of his life. With that logic, it’s best to start teaching babies to read as soon as possible when their brains are information sponges and they are utterly and totally committed to learn whatever they can. I can’t really disagree. I studied Japanese for four years and I bet I can’t keep up with the average four year old Japanese boy. My parents spoke Russian to me exclusively in the first few years of my life and while I can’t speak it very well, I still understand it fairly fluently.

The chapter about teaching your child to read isn’t that long. Most of the book includes lots of fascinating information about the brain development of children with many interesting anecdotes.  There is plenty of repetition of information and ideas, but in a good way, that makes sure anyone can understand it; even me, someone who needs an Idiot’s Guide to the Idiot’s Guides. It’s the most interesting baby-related book I have ever read (I read two including this one, but that’s not the point).

A quick Google search brought up a Wikipedia article in which Doman’s approach has been disputed by other experts. The book is updated, but it is still an aging program from over forty years ago. I also found out that Glenn Doman looks like the KFC Colonel Sanders (which made me like him more).

Still, since someone who used it on her own children personally recommended it to us (and her children, now adults, are high achievers),  I decided to give it a go.  I’m not really recommending the programme myself, at least not yet. To genuinely recommend this book I’ll need to work with Blake for months, or even years, before I can say for sure that it works, but then it might be a bit too late for your kids who’ll be older than they are now. Oh, and if your kids are over six already, my condolences. They might end up collecting shopping carts at a supermarket car park, but they’re still your kids and you should love them anyway.

I bought my copy from Amazon, but I also shopped for various materials at the official site in the US which delivers internationally.
http://www.gentlerevolution.com/

You’re told to work with massive cards which you are meant to create at home, but for the life of Kara Dioguardi I didn’t even know where to start, not to mention that the materials were quite costly and I was meant to make hundreds of these cards. Thankfully you can buy ready made cards from the official website, which I did. It did cost a bundle to deliver to the UK from the US, but I don't regret it. I also got the DVD of the book which is mostly a filmed lecture by Glenn’s daughter, Janet, with lots of tips and visual guides on how to follow the programme.

The guidelines for the cards are a bit too much for me. You're supposed to have five set of five words each to be shown to the baby three times each (a total of fifteen, if you need help with the math). Additionally, each day a word from each set should be replaced by another word and the words should go through a complete cycle which is why it is recommended to write on the back with a pencil the date the last time this word was used. No thank you! A tad too complicated for me. I have five sets, I show them as many times as I can during the day (often less than 15) and I change one word here and there very randomly. I'm just not organized enough to do it properly. The good news? You can't really go wrong with the programme, Glenn Doman explains in the book, as long as you follow it closely enough, there should be results. Maybe with time I'll get a tiny bit more organized. Heh, as I was typing the previous sentence I actually believed it for a second.

I also got lots of materials and created a book with words and pictures taken directly from Blake’s world: himself, daddy, papa, our dogs, his toys and various objects in the house he’s obsessed with like the wireless telephone he likes stealing, chewing and using to call the police.  It took a while to find the right scrap book, printing setting and paper for good quality images and finding a way to make it all stick together (regular glue stick wasn't good enough, so I got the extra strength one).

After a couple of weeks I can’t tell if it’s working yet, but Blake certainly enjoys it and shows a lot of interest in the big red words. He utterly adores the book I made him, but I can’t let him play with it on his own or it will suffer the fate of his many other books – and that’s one book I can’t order again from Amazon! We’re having fun and that alone makes the whole thing worth it.

So get the book, read it and make up your own mind. If you already used it for a while or a long time ago, please let me know!

--Mickey

That's Not My Book!

Often you'd buy a toy for a baby or young toddler and be disappointed to see that not only does he not play with it "the way he's supposed to", he'd often show no interest in it at all. Blake had books from the day he was born, but his early interest in them was to simply turn the pages as fast as possible. It made it an exercise in speed reading for me as I'd try to read the story fast enough, managing only the first 3-4 words.

And then during our trip to Israel in December Blake, seemingly out of nowhere, started bringing a book to us and placed it on our lap in the expectation that we would read it for him. He would turn the pages joyfully, waiting for us to read the entire phrase. Obviously at almost twenty months he couldn't read along yet, but he remembered the length and musical pace of each phrase. He would never turn the page too early and often stop to touch the different textures in the book: fuzzy, smooth, furry, scratchy etc.. That book was That's Not My Bear, a book we got him months before.

That book was used so much during these two weeks that near the end of our trip it completely fell apart. First thing we did when we came back to London was order another That's Not My Bear book together with That's Not My Monster and That's Not My Car. Then I saw in Tesco a boxset of That's Not My Teddy Bear, Puppy and Monkey for only £5 and I still regret not taking a couple more. They were all gone very quickly (usually these books cost £5 each, £3ish on Amazon). I also bought a Peppa Pig boxset which was thoroughly ignored like any other book that didn't belong to the series. B

lake was delighted with his expanded collection and would carry around one of these books with him at all times, often two at a time. After Blake decided to marinade the second Bear book in the dogs' water for three hours, a third one was ordered along with That's Not My Baby and another That's Not My Car as the original Car book is already almost obliterated. We also ordered three of those books as a present for Blake's brother in Canada.

I think on average these books are read to him about 10-20 times per day, almost exclusively on his request and initiative. Thankfully they are quite short. Then again Blake has figured out a trick to make them last longer: he would stop before the last page, knowing that it will conclude the story, and start flipping the pages back. 

I don't get the magic my son sees in these books. I don't know how Fiona Watts and Rachel Wells came with this concept and if they knew it'll be so successful. Buying so many of these books, I bet the royalties from us alone paid for their next vacation. 

                       

But you know what? They earned it.

--Mickey

Baby Gaga

Blake is a big fan of Baby Einstein videos. He worked his way towards the more advanced ones for older kids and is already bored with some of them. He gets to watch one or two a day after a meal. It is a delight to hear him giggle from downstairs or see him get excited over a musical segment.

Since he started walking he'd often walk into my room and show interest in what I'm watching on my computer. He instantly fell in love with the end credits music video from  the game Plants Vs Zombies.  Since the song is sang by a Sunflower, that was Blake's first word, only it came out sounding more like "safa". I also made him a seven minutes video based on videos of him that I filmed during his first year set to Jeff Buckley's Hallelujah. He watches one of these two every night just before going to bed, sitting on my lap in front of my Mac.

A couple of weeks ago two new clips entered his list: Poker Face and Bad Romance by Lady Gaga. He would often come to me while I'm doing something entirely different on the computer and slap my knees. He knows that I know exactly what he means: put me on your knees and give me some Gaga! Can't blame him, I think Bad Romance is a great song with a fantastic music video.

 Walk walk, fashion baby. Work it, move that bitch ka-razy!

The other day he was playing in daddy's study. I opened the TV on a music channel showing the top twenty singles knowing that Bad Romance should be there somewhere. As expected he pretty much ignored the TV until Bad Romance started playing. He immediately dropped everything and walked to the screen in fascination and excitement. He never saw that on a big screen. I tried putting him on my knees, but he wriggled away and walked closer to the screen. As soon as the song ended he lost all interest and resumed playing with his toys on the coffee table. That Lady Gaga knows what she's doing, getting them while they're young.

He's still not really talking, but I won't be surprised if he'd start saying Gaga a lot soon. Too bad he's too young to go see Lady Gaga at the O2 Arena in February next year!

--Mickey

Night of the Living Dead Papa

As I mentioned before (as the millions of followers of this blog clearly remember after memorizing every instant cult classic quotable post) Blake is an easy Baby. He sleeps through the night from two months and the bad nights are very rare and often results in a disturbance of no more than an hour or two. So I shouldn't really whine and complain about it, but then again if I didn't what am I going to write about?

We had a bad night on Tuesday night this week. Since I teach on Tuesdays and Wednesdays it means early mornings and long days with no nap opportunities, so I value my six hours of sleep those nights.

So just as my head hit the pillow the cries started. Sometimes Blake cries in his sleep or wakes up for a second unhappy after banging his head as a result of performing somersaults in his sleep. So I waited for a few long seconds, knowing better than to run into his bedroom and pick him up. As expected (otherwise, that would be a really short and dull anecdote, while instead it's a long and dull one) the cries didn't stop. Oh, another one of those nights.

I went to Blake's bed and picked him up in the dark. Immediately the cries stopped. I took him to his daddy's study and we sat down on the sofa. He gazed up at me in the dark as I sang to him Wheels on the Bus and I'm the Music Man with my mesmerizing, beautiful and haunting voice (I'm thinking of starting a new career as a pop singer with the stage name Lady Papa). Actually I can barely hold on to the right note with a lot of considerable effort, but looking at Blake's response to my singing you'd think I was Edith Piaf. If I want Blake to come I can call his name until I am blue in the face, but if I sing he'd beeline towards me from the other side of the house. So as I was going through these two songs for the millionth time he just lay there and smiled sweetly having the time of his life.

Usually when Blake wakes up in the middle of the night, giving him the benefit of the doubt, I used to assume that he was in actual pain from teething, gas or something else he couldn't communicate to me. That would usually result in giving him Calpol and sitting him in the kitchen in front of the laptop to watch Baby Einstein while waiting for the medicine to kick in. Since that worked like a charm it was easy to assume that the medicine took the pain away, but it was more likely that it just knocked him out as a side effect, giving him just the right nudge needed to go back to sleep. The thing was, he only cried in his bed. As soon as I picked him up or took him to our bed, he'd quiet down. Obviously he wasn't in real pain.

It was then very clear that he simply woke up in the middle of the night wide awake and bored to death. He didn't like lying alone in the dark cooped up in his cot so he'd scream and scream knowing that he will be eventually rescued. I took him back to his bed and decided to let him cry it out. I shouldn't help him develop bad habits. There was still some light in his room from the night light and he had a few toys in his bed. It's not as if I buried him alive in a coffin - though you might think that hearing his screams. I waited until his screams subsided and he fell asleep - only to be woken up several times each time his screams started again. Like many other parents I decided to postpone the development of my child's habits to a different unspecified time and took him into our bed.

I stuck him in the middle between Miron and me. He lay there happily for a few seconds, enjoying his triumph. I enjoyed the lack of screaming, so I thought it was a fair deal all around and dozed off into sweet bliss - only to be woken up with a swift kick to the head. Again and again. At some point Miron tried to grab Blake and hold him close which was party done out of sheer affection and partly as a sweet attempt to protect me from the little ninja. It was no good. For the next fifty minutes I kept falling asleep only to be woken up by kicks, slaps and bumps as Blake was having the time of his life. This must be against the Geneva convention: Letting an exhausted prisoner fall asleep only to wake him up abruptly again and again is a despicable form of torture. Eventually I had enough and decided to take Blake back to his bed as suddenly listening to his screams seemed like a great idea.

I carried him to bed and placed him on the mattress and... Nothing. He silently rolled onto his side. I rushed to bed and fell asleep before anything else happened. Four hours were still better than none. Blake woke up extra early the following morning, costing me additional fifteen minutes on the other end  of the night, but who's counting?

Seasoned parents probably expect a twist that takes this to the next level. What, that's it? That's what I'm whining about? Well, yes. Being woken up from deep sleep physically was an immensely unpleasant experience. I guess being so lucky with Blake means that when those bad nights happen they have a more significant effect since I'm no longer used to them.

So I'm not really sure if I'm seeking sympathy or showing off...

--Mickey

Super Awesomeness!!!

I just wrote a long blog post for about thirty minutes and then comes lovely little Dexter with a dirty toy and dropped it on the keyboard just after I marked all the text in order to format it. All the text disappeared and before I could do anything Blogger's helpful feature kicked in: Auto-save! Yay! It's all gone.

All gone!!!

Gah.

Little bugger is very lucky that he's so cute and beautiful..!

--Mickey

Parent of the Year Award Part 1

Having a baby is scary. You have this fragile creature in your hands and you are so terrified that you’ll make some stupid mistake that will hurt him or worse. You try your best, but no matter what there will always be brief lapses of judgement, oversights or a combination of circumstances outside your control that will make you a nominee for parent of year award. Maybe some parents are so careful and so lucky that their babies grow up all the way to old age without a scratch. I am not one of those parents.

Just before Blake turned one month old, days before his second visit to our local paediatrician in Toronto, a red mark appeared on his left armpit. It looked red and nasty. Immediately we started panicking and wondering what might have caused it. What kind of stupid thing have we done to our tiny little baby? Was it from the one time I pulled him up from the front of his onesie? Did we leave some object in his bed? Theories were flying around and soon so were accusations. Oh God, the embarrassment facing the paediatrician with this injury. They were right all along: Gay people shouldn't be parents!

It turned out to be a perfectly normal birthmark that should disappear in a few years. Maybe Blake won’t be able to model sleeveless shirts any time soon, but that was all it was. We did nothing wrong after all.

The next scare, I’m afraid, was entirely my fault. Probably one of the dumbest things I have ever done in my entire life, and boy I have done dumb things. Even now, almost a year later, thinking about it gives me chills. It was December and Blake was only six months. We came back from a visit to friends out of the city and we just drove back and parked outside of our house. The dogs were in the very back of the car and I was sitting with Blake in the back seat. It was cold and drizzly outside and I had to take Blake out of car seat, put him in his little snuggly snowsuit and go home. Then again it was literally a twenty seconds walk. Should I really bother dressing him up and then undress him back inside for twenty seconds? Less if I walked faster. I suspect you see where this story is going.

Ignoring my husband’s request to dress my son up, I was very clever and simply took him out of the car and walked home fast. No, not walked. I think I actually dashed. Then happened something that has never happened to me in the six years I lived in that house in Finchley. I slipped. There were wet winters before, there was even ice and snow. But I never actually slipped and fell crashing into the ground. And this time I was moving fast and holding the dearest cargo in the entire world in my hands. The entire world shook and WHAM. There I was on my knees with a screaming baby in my hands.

I wobbled up to my feet mumbling “on no” again and again. Miron came out of the car and was entirely calm.

“What happened?” He said quietly. “Shall we go back into the car and drive to the hospital?”

Miron usually freaks out if a glass of juice spills on the carpet or if I forget to take the wet washing to hang and it get all wrinkly. So when he’s cool as ice I know he’s beyond freaking out. Complete and utter shock, you might say. There we were standing in the cold, dark and wet driveway outside our house completely helpless.

“He’s crying, I guess that’s good.” I was saying without convincing myself. I looked the screaming boy all over, especially his head. No bumps, no bruises, no bleeding. He looked fine.

Then I looked down and realized why. My nice trousers were torn at the knees and my knees were all bloodied. Falling down I grabbed Blake close to my chest and broke the fall with my knees. What I lacked in common sense I made up for with paternal instincts. 

We walked inside and I put Blake in front of Baby Einstein. He immediately calmed down and stared and the screen with wet eyes. I looked him all over very careful. He must have got a bit of a jolt and a scare, but he was fine. But what if I didn’t break the fall with my knees, what if… Too awful to even think about. That night we checked on him every thirty minutes or so. For the next week I had a difficult time climbing the steps and couldn’t go down on my knees to change diapers, instead having to get down and up in an awkward and uncomfortable manner. I totally deserved these little reminders of how stupid I was.

I was just lucky. Some parents pay the ultimate price for the tiniest mistake, the briefest lack of judgement. It was the dumbest mistake I have done as a parent, probably as a human being, but unfortunately not the last…

To Be Continued!  (Go to part 2)

--Mickey

I'll Get You The Moon and the Stars

Blake loves bath time. He also loves the bathroom in general. The door must be closed otherwise Blake will wander in and throw anything that's not nailed down into the bathtub. Or he might walk out sucking on some shampoo bottle before spilling it in my room. Or decide to run around with my shaving razor.

A couple of days ago we were having a very lovely bath-time. Papa (that would be me) and Blake in the bath and daddy was sitting outside. In the bath Blake likes to play with a set of three squeaky toys, purple octopus, green frog and blue whale. There's also a small squeaky pirate captain, among other floating bits. The highlight is a set of foam shapes that were a gift from a good friend who also designed the illustrations on them.

When wet you can stick them to the tiles and they'll stay attached fairly firmly. At first Blake's only interest in them was to stick them in his mouth and leave little bite marks on them. I'd stick them to the tiles and he'd watch with interest. Later he'd reach out and pluck them off the wall... And stick them in his mouth. As long as he wasn't biting me, I was content.

Then one day Blake decided to attempt sticking them on the tiles himself. The problem was that he had a finger between the sponge and the tile, so it never made full contact with the wall and fell to the water when he let go. Blake wasn't visibly disappointed or annoyed, he simply studied the results of his careful lab experiment. Eventually there were several successful attachments.

So two days ago as we were having our bath, I was inside with Blake helping him stick sponges to tiles. He then took the squeaky purple octopus and tried sticking it to the tiles. Needless to say, the big heavy lump of rubber dropped immediately.

'Oh, Blake. There's nothing I want more than for that piece of rubber to stick to the tiles, but it's not going to happen.'

'There are far more important things in the world than this toy sticking to the tiles.' Daddy said with a smile that was both forgiving and patronizing.

It was a somewhat silly statement on my part and it was certainly not true that wishing a rubber toy to stick to the wall was in fact what I wanted more than anything else. But then I looked at Blake as he attempted to stick to the wall another toy and I realized that I felt that way regardless of how pointless it was. It made me finally understand what it means to promise someone the moon and the stars. This unrealistic desire to fulfil a loved one's most impossible wishes.

Because at that moment the world ceased to exist for Blake. It was just him and his experiment. The only thing on his mind was whether the toy will stick to the wall or not. The toy falling into the water was surely a disappointment and a failed experiment, but a necessary part of growing up. For babies and toddlers pretty much any action they take is an experiment in which they learn basic physics and the world around them. Sometimes these experiments could be painful and sometimes just disappointing.

So seeing Blake fail at something, even if it's something as simple as sticking things on the wall, breaks my heart just a tiny little bit. I want him to have a magic touch and defy the law of physics to his own delight. I know it's not going to happen, but I still feel that way.

This utterly ridiculous anecdote is a good example to just how weird people get once they become parents. Or maybe it's just me... Apologies if you expected a funnier payoff to this anecdote like Blake maybe taking a dump in the bath or something.

--Mickey

Blake ver 1.5 Preview

Blake is going to be a year and a half in a week. Like all parents we think a lot about his development. Is he reaching his milestones on time? Ahead of time? Is he breaking records? Is he providing me with fantastic anecdotes that I can use to obliterate the self image of fellow parents and send them running and screaming back to their "What To Expect" books?

To be honest, I don't really care. I'm not researching on-line to see what Blake is supposed to be able to do week by week. I don't try to compare him to other babies at that age, including what I used to be like. There are mainly two reasons for that. For one thing I don't want to broadcast to him any anxiety. I don't want him to feel inadequate or slow. For the most part, though, it's simply the fact that I really don't care if my son is the strongest, tallest or smartest (he is the handsomest, though). I'll leave that second-hand achievement chasing to other parents. For me it's far more important that he'll be happy, healthy and a decent human being.

Mind you, I'll totally update my Facebook status to show off if he won a Noble Prize. He is more than welcome to become an Olympic gold medallist or create a pill that cures all forms of cancer overnight. Don't get me wrong, I don't want him to work night shifts at Tesco all the way to his pension, it's just that I prioritize other things above a successful career. I assume that part of being happy means doing something you like doing (or at least don't hate) and getting paid for that fairly.

With this chunky disclaimer out of the way, I can concentrate on little Blakey-Cakey at almost one and a half. What is he up to? How developed is he?

Well, he can't talk yet. Not properly. There's lots of ababababawapapa and making fart noises with his mouth. He also tried saying sunflower (which is really two words) as his first word a couple of months ago, but it came out more like safa. This pretty much sums up his speaking efforts for the moment. Oh, there was also the brief period where he enjoyed making a noise while sucking in air which was quite startling as you don't really expect a one year old to gasp. Repeatedly.

On the physical front he's doing very well. He's not walking as much as running. He always zooms about the place and always with a clear sense of purpose. Got to pop into the guest room, climb on the bed and peek outside through the window. Then through the kitchen to the wash-room where he needs to go check on the washing machine. Run to the living room and push his train and throw some balls around. Then must run back to the kitchen and splash the dog water all over the place, slip on the puddle he made and cry. Occasionally he'd climb the stairs to the first floor and close the baby gate after himself. He'd even sometimes stop halfway through and attempt to go down a stair or two by carefully finding his footing. I suppose he remembers the unplanned tumble down the stairs from a few months ago (a story for another time).

Blake spends most of his time conducting scientific experiments. He's very good with technology. He only needs to be shown once what each button does. Right now he knows how to turn the iPod in his room, play pre-recorded tunes on Daddy's electronic piano and his own toy piano. He knows what button turns on any of the phones and the fax. He even called the police too a couple of times and no, they didn't think it was cute. He manges to turn on alarms and disable playlists on the iPod, something that took me quite a while to figure out how to undo. His latest tech achievement was creating a custom chat room in World of Warcraft called 433fj1i019. Conquering the field of electronics isn't enough, though.

A budding physician Blake likes taking objects and test their rollability on the coffee table in his daddy's study. Balls and tube shaped objects roll quite well. A glass full of grapes juice rolls exceptionally well and makes a fine sticky mess on the white carpet underneath. Books and eyeglasses fail the rollability test, which makes them ideal test subjects for breakability. He found that standing by the child's gate on the top of the stairs he could throw pretty much anything down below through the gaps between the posts. If something happens to be too big to fit between the bars all that needs to be done is push the object up slowly and over the railing. The foot of the stairs now looks like a landfill with toys, clothes, discs, TV remotes, phones and whatnot. So far the only casualty was a plastic pig toy. All in the name of science.

Blake also loves flipping the pages of books. And eat them. He especially likes taking a book and placing it first on our bed or the coffee table and why wouldn't he? I sometimes try and sit with him to read the words for him, but he flips the pages a bit too fast and I can only manage to squeeze in the first few words.

This is just scraping the surface. There's so much else that he does and I'll need to probably follow up this post with another. This is just a taste of Life with Blake right now and I can tell you: the boy is delicious!

--Mickey

Where's the Mommy?

The first time I was asked "where's the mommy" was when we were still in Toronto. Blake must have been one or two months old. I was in HMV on one my of my excursions to the local shopping mall. There I was pushing the pram and browsing DVDs when a young man stopped me and asked me "where's him mom". His half shut eyes and slurry tone (not to mention the inappropriate question) made me assume he was mentally handicap in one way or another. Whatever it was, I felt no need to dive into the full story and just said "at home". Since then I rarely had that question asked whether I was with my husband or just me and Blake.

The next time it happened was already in London. Not quite sure how long ago, maybe around Blake's first birthday. I was at the local Thorntons stocking up on some chocolates when the nice lady behind the till asked me if it was mommy's day off. Again, not wishing to go into detail I just smiled and nodded instead of asking her if it was her brain's day off. That was it for a while.

The worrying thing is that this week I had two incidents in a row. Last week while shopping for a new wallet I let Blake down off my shoulders for a second and then had to chase him. "Are you babysitting today" asked the saleswoman at Tie Rack with a somewhat patronizing smile. The implication was obvious. There I was your typical father, like a fish out of water. Letting the mother take care of all the difficult day to day child rearing and then occasionally help out with the baby just to get some sort of pat of the back for a token contribution while realizing what a difficult job it actually is. "No, I take care of him all the time. He's my little buddy." I replied to her and added in my head "you presumptuous, sexist, nosey, little bitch."

And just today at Waitrose I was at the cashier. Blake was sitting in the shopping cart chewing on whatever was near enough to his mouth. "Is his mother at home?" She asked, God knows why. "He doesn't have a mother. It's just me and his father." I said briefly. I didn't quite want to go into detail with the whole story, but I was immediately aware that it wasn't phrased very well. The kind woman was resourceful enough to fill in the blanks. "Oh, he's very young for that. What a shame. Parents separated?" She was babbling with a disapproving sad face. "Are you shopping for the father?" Utterly perplexed, I just smiled and nodded.

I've decided that the next time someone asks me where's the mommy I'll just say "he doesn't have a mommy" in the saddest voice I could muster, maybe a tear or two, and leave it at that. Let them assume she died in a plane crash or was disowned by the family after being thrown into jail for dealing drugs to schoolchildren. What if I was a widower who just lost his wife? What if I was divorced and it was my turn with the kid? Why do these people think they can just ask anything that crosses their minds?

Better yet I can write a pamphlet with the following text in several different languages to hand over to nosey people who think my life is an open book for them to leaf through.

"Dear nosey person. I'm gay. I'm married to a man who's also gay. Our baby son may or may not be gay. We don't hate women, some of our best friends are women, we're just not into them that way. Thanks to a kind surrogate and the egg donation from one of our best friends we managed to bring our beautiful son into the world. His biological mother is part of his life and it's up to the two of them to establish what type of relationship they'll develop between them, but as it is my husband and I are our son's only legal parents. I hope this satisfies your utterly inappropriate curiosity, but if you're also going to ask us who's top and who's bottom I'm afraid I'll have to punch you in the face using my foot. Kind regards, Michael."

--Mickey

The poop post.

Haven't been writing my intended one post a day since I sunk my teeth into a "proper" writing gig, a book to be exact. I might write about that process in future posts as it's taking a huge chunk of my life now and I have a lot to say about that too.

But before that, it's time for a Blake post.

I don't think I've written about poop yet, so here it is: The poop post. And I can write it now able to look back at thirteen months of poop.

Blake was born 411 days ago. Assuming I changed four diapers a day, it means I did 1,644 nappy changes in a little over a year. Sure, my husband helped with quite a few of them, but take into account that the first few months had as many as eight diapers a day and the fact that I'm the main diaper changer, the number should be still quite close, probably a bit higher. Now, Blake didn't poop every day, but almost. So roughly one diaper in five was poopy. That's 328.8 poopy diapers (I wouldn't want to be the one handling that dirty 0.8 diaper!). Again, the number is probably higher as there were times where Blake pooped more than once a day.

(In a few years time when Blake goes through this blog's archives I bet he's going to LOVE reading about his papa talking about his pooping habits. Don't be embarrassed Blake, we all poop!)

Before the birth, changing poopy diapers (sounds better than saying shitty) was one of the things I dreaded. I didn't need to, really. I had two Great Danes and they poop BIG. Having to scoop after them or clean an explosive diarrhoea (as they say, shit happens) off the kitchen floor and cupboards has prepared me for the worst of it. There was nothing Blake could do with his poo to faze me. Even when he did his world famous double-poo in his early days (tip: if your baby just finished pooping - WAIT BEFORE YOU UNPACK. He might not be done yet!)

Now he's thirteen months, walking and running. He's really still a baby, but he's looking more and more like a little boy with every passing day. So it's quite odd to suddenly hear grunts from the hallways, come over and see him standing on all four, his bum in the air, pushing and grunting.

The day has come.

We're ordering a potty from the Babies R Us website.

To be continued!

--Mickey

Bedtime Stories

Blake has been sleeping through the night from two months and ten days. Even though he was our first child we knew how lucky we were. He was still occasionally a handful during the day, but at least I could once more sleep through the night.

The fragmented sleep was certainly the worst thing in the those first two months. Inconsolable crying came a close second. Of course often you would have your sleep disturbed because of inconsolable crying and get a fantastic combo.

Getting up in the middle of the night from Blake's hungry screams, I had to scrape myself out of bed, change him and warm up the bottle on auto-pilot with my eyes half shut. When I was finally done feeding him I would be completely and utterly awake. Not enough energy to do anything worthwhile, but too awake to fall back asleep. That was when I fell back into playing World of Warcraft (a bad habit I kicked since, hopefully for good) and watch various movies and TV shows.

So it was a delight when Blake started sleeping through the night. But somewhere along the way, I'm not even sure at exactly what point (Eight months? Nine?), Blake would scream his head off every time I would try to put him to bed. The look of terror and betrayal in his eyes would tarnish what could have been a wonderful day spent together. He would make me feel like a real bastard for sticking him in bed and walking away. It didn't matter if I tried singing to him or put the lullaby music on. I was Darth Vader. Often he'd fall asleep within a minute or two, but sometimes he would cry for up to fifteen minutes, getting into a frenzy and I would have to take him out and give him another thirty minutes or so to roam free and really get tired.

And now, about a week ago, just before Blake turned thirteen months, the most amazing thing happened. He stopped crying. He would just turn to his side and be ready to zonk out. Absolutely amazing. Putting him to bed and walking away without being accompanied and haunted by his screams... Heaven. Not sure why it happened, though.

The fact that he can now walk, practically run, probably has a lot to do with it. He tires himself much more. But at the same time I also decided to give him a little nighttime routine. Up until recently we would just let him roam free and do whatever he wanted and come ten o'clock (forget putting him to bed any earlier) we would just lift him, disturbing whatever activity he was doing, and stick him in bed. I can see how that can be a bit jarring. If someone did that to me I don't think I would be that happy about it either. I did try reading him stories, but he is too young to show interest. He would usually listen for a few seconds and then smack the book out of my hands or try to eat it. He is also getting into turning pages in books nowadays. It doesn't matter what else, it's all about the page turning action.

A few days ago I edited all the video tapes I had of Blake so far. I wanted to fit the first year into seven minutes with the Jeff Buckley version of Hallelujah playing in the background. It turned out quite well if I do say so myself. So that what Blake watches every night now just before going to bed. It works wonderfully. He sits on my lap and we watch it on my computer. As soon as it starts he immediately goes limp and relaxed. He sees himself, the people his love, his home, his dogs, his toys. The music is very soothing. As soon as it's over I just take him to bed. So far, almost a week and he hasn't protested once.

It works for now and that's all I care about. What will happen next we'll see. I suppose eventually this will transform into bedtime story time when he is ready.

Now the only problem is little Dexter. Our excitable little pup needs to be taught NOT to bark late at night outside of Blake's room and wake him up screaming...

--Mickey

Where did my baby go?

Ever since my son was born I was eagerly awaiting the next milestone. Quite frankly, the first few weeks were quite boring. It was amazing to hold him in my hands and look at him, but that was pretty much what I got to do (other than feeding, washing, changing etc.).

Each new milestone just gave me appetite for more. Suddenly he was smiling, laughing, sitting up, crawling, walking a few steps. Waiting for the changes felt like forever and a new milestone sneaked up on me when I least expected it.

Not anymore. Only three weeks ago he started walking, three steps at a time and then falling back on his bum where he felt safe. Every single day I could see a change. Walking a bit longer, a bit faster, a bit more confidently. Yesterday we went to the park and for the first time, rather than me carrying him around to various attractions, he was walking all over the place on his own. Walking? Almost running.

Suddenly my baby is gone and there's this little boy who looks a lot like him. How long is he going to stick around? Suddenly I'm no longer in a hurry for the next few milestones. They can get here whenever he is ready. I am going to make the best out of every day, every moment.

--Mickey

Multi tasking

Doing college work in my small study. Blake is roaming the upstairs floor so I locked the gate. The dogs are lying in the landing and present an obstacle for Blake to overcome. Dexter comes over to say hi. Due to a double operation he had on his eye and ear he's wearing a big satellite dish on his head which makes him even more clumsy than before, knocking down anything in his way like a bulldozer.

Blake cries. I run over to find out he got his fingers pinched and stuck in the hinges part of the door to the toilet. Can't lock the damn thing. Fortunately no real damage and a few verses of Wheels on the Bus calm him down.

I have lots of work to mark for college for tomorrow's final assessment, so I get back to it. Thankfully I don't need the computer for that. Blake comes over and takes over the keyboard and mouse. He smacks the mouse and drops it. It's now dangling off the keyboard, swaying back and forth with a little glowing red light that fascinates Blake. He slaps it a few times and moves away. He walks over a pile of essays I left on the floor, gotta move them.

Gotta go and stop him. He picked up something he shouldn't. Maybe I'll finish marking the work once he sleeps!

--Mickey