Am not going to lie to you.

Parenting is repetitive.

Picking up your pacifier and washing it.

20 times a day?

Picking up toys. Lost count.

Snatching you away from a dangerous situation.

You are drawn to danger.

Whenever I put you down on the floor in any room you rush to the most dangerous item in the room like a berserker seeking Walhalla.

You do not like to sit in one place.

It’s a bit like going to church.

Kneel.

Stand.

Kneel.

Stand.

Annoying sounds all round.

Old ladies smiling.

If I sit down your mother will need me for something.

Bring your pacifier.

Wipes.

Some toy.

A towel.

Her phone.

When I go to bed I think: Oh dear, tomorrow the whole cycle starts again.

You wake up at about 5.30 or so. I wake up at 5.00 usually.

You keep yourself busy in your crib for about half an hour.

In the mean time I prepare your bottle.

You drink your bottle and we walk around the house a bit. Checking every room.

Then I get your toys and let you play on the ground.

But you don’t really play with your toys. You crawl off to wherever you shouldn’t be.

You are drawn to electricity sockets, the trash cans, stuff you can pull on yourself, the coffee table you like to push over, sharp edges, books you can destroy.

Yes, you have your high level cuteness going for you.

I doubt anyone not closely related to you would be able to put up with this for longer than an hour.

Even your aunt Hanka doesn’t have the stamina.

There’s your mum complaining you keep spitting out your banana and staining your clothes.

Who knew banana was so hard to wash out?

I didn’t.

Now am reminded of this fact daily.

It’s amazing to see you pull yourself up. You have strong legs.

It’s draining to teach a class via skype or whatsapp or MS teams or whatever and hear your screaming in the background because you are bored when your mum is feeding you.

You also hate being rubbed with some baby oil your mum puts on you after your bath.

We’re in for 30 minutes of screaming every evening thanks to that baby oil.

Hey, I get it, I also don’t allow anyone to rub baby oil or any sort of massage oil on me.

Parenthood.

I love you, but sometimes working at a conveyer belt at a chocolate factory is less draining than trying to prevent you from bumbing your head against the walls or wandering off into the kitchen. Or any other way you unwittingly put yourself at risk.

I hope you can learn to play boardgames like A house divided or Civilization very soon. Very soon.

Your mum and I think the movie Groundhog Day has a fine concept, but there are times we feel stuck in our version.

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