Bad Dad

We dropped into the Bluebird Cafe today to have lunch with all the Chel-ras and Euro Trashies.

Having secured a table outside on the packed terrace, I undid the straps on Madeleine's car seat, pushed the handle back, and exchanged a glance of mutual appreciation with a couple on the table next to us who also had a very young baby with them, before tucking into my burger.

At some point - it's still a bit of a blur - I decided to pick up said car seat and bring Madeleine a little closer to us both.

Having pushed the handle back for viewing purposes, I had inadvertently created a weight distribution imbalance and having also undone the straps for wiggling purposes, the car seat tipped forwards dramatically.

And Madeleine face-planted onto the astroturf floor.

Cue the most blood curdling screams I'd certainly ever heard, as the whole restaurant turned towards the commotion in unison.

But most damning moment was the evil stare from the mother at the next door table, who even went so far as to cover her child's face from the Bad Dad sitting next to them.

Mortified.

Getting with the programme

Lunch with friends alfresco in Chiswick, followed by a BBQ with friends in the hood. Maddie had clearly listened to The Roskill Rules and therefore behaved impeccably. She was however a bit sweaty. Just like her Dad.

It's my bottle. I'll hold it.

Maddie decides she'll control the speed of the feed, thank you very much.

The latest 'tack' debate

To be honest, I'm amazed this is even a debate.

But Kate seems dead set on getting one of the most plastic fantastic items surely ever invented - the exersaucer.

Yuk.

Who's the dummy?

Matt and I are currently having an extended disagreement about the use of a dummy. Matt is in the liberal, 'reach for dummy as soon as she squeaks' camp, and I'm in the more considered 'use in emergency camp'. Thankfully, as our daughter's primary carer (yes, I bandy these phrases around liberally), I outrank him. Ha.

Boston bound

Here's Maddie belted-up and ready for take-off on her first flight ever.

Holiday rules

These are the 'Roskill Rules' for holidays going forward. Interested? Thought so...

1. Babies get jet lag. Stick to the one time zone if holidays are to include at least a modicum of sleep.
2. Flights. Minimise the time spent in an enclosed loo roll tube with a wailing ticking time bomb. Stick to an 'under four hours' rule to retain sanity.
3. Spend as long as possible editing the packing to avoid looking like you're emigrating.
4. Babies don't do holiday lie-ins.
5. Likewise sunbathing.
6. And long lunches.

So our next trip? Somewhere in the UK where the weather is temperate, there are no aeroplanes to catch and no time zone changes? Oh no, that would be far too sensible. Team Roskill are off to bl**dy Kenya...

Plane panic

Our first flight with the noise box tomorrow, and both Matt and I are positively dreading that we may well soon be villified by the whole plane for possessing a baby who we are unable to silence. As I have found out in the last twelve weeks, babies can cry for a surprisingly long time before they 'tire themselves out.' If they sold baby Valium, I would be buying it in bulk.

Like father, like daughter

We will be starting the face exercises next week to work on those jowls. Matt appears to be a lost cause though...

Starting to look like a proper little person

Albeit one who appears to have recently stuck their fingers into the nearest plug socket.