Weeknotes 147: If you talk about cuddles, you get a cuddle

Started this week playing the “is it food poisoning or a bug?” game. Not one I’d recommend. Maybe stick with Zelda. Upshot was that we had no visitors staying as they, “don’t want to crap themselves on the motorway home.” Fair really.

Grandma was drafted in for some last-minute childcare—may she never move away—while everyone considered their options. She had the misfortune of taking her turn to bounce the Wee Free Man off the floor. It’s a good job he’s well padded. She was as shaken as I was when I did it. It’s the noise and the lack of noise; the sickening clap of baby against the surface and the seconds—eternity—before he cries when you imagine he’s not going to cry. Piglet reassured her with cuddles all afternoon. Then spent the rest of the week telling everyone and their dog about it. Piglet giveth, Piglet taketh away.

Walking in after two weeks off straight into giving a two day training course is one way to get back into work mode. It was surprisingly refreshing. No email drudgery and a legitimate excuse to make the “as per my previous email” crowd wait even longer. Heading into the office after the course to see everyone, heads down and noise cancelling, oblivious to the rain teaming through the ceiling confirmed the feeling. Piglet celebrated my return to work by painting my face as a butterfly when I got home.

The Chef’s excitement for the fried chicken place has been tempered by the website. I mean we’re still going to try it. All the pilates have to be in aid of something.

Lǎoyé has safely landed in China and Lǎolao is going solo for the next few weeks. Started strong with a day in Seaton Delaval Hall. Piglet was so excited on returning home I nearly got my face painted again.

One of the many helpful things about morning pages is a clunky sentence that definitely gets deleted in the edit, but which is useful to write when thinking. A chance for first thoughts to become second thoughts. I’m more generous with a moment’s reflection.¹                                                    

The Wee Free Man has perfected his old man snores. Unrelated, we need to get his nursery ready for him to move out. He’s currently utterly delighted by hair. Free entertainment and a guaranteed laugh track. Like his sister.

The Chef and the Wee Free Man had brunch booked on Saturday morning. Me and Piglet had grand plans to head round the shops and  to the park, but sacked them off in favour of jigsaw puzzles by torchlight under the covers. Tried getting her to listen to Joy Oladokun but she asked for Nick Cope instead.

On our second Junior Great North Run practice, Piglet was not feeling it. The heat was too much, even that early in the morning. Halfway round she turned to me to say, “There’s too much running and not enough walking and telling stories.” On a hot morning, cajoling a truculent child around, it’s infuriating. But from the comfort of the couch, that’s a good line. 

The World Cup final could have gone better, eh? Like the men’s team in the Euros, beaten by a better team after a great tournament and it’s hard to feel bitter. Disappointed not to get another Chloe Kelly interview. Soothed the sadness with a superb family Sunday dinner and drinks by the river.

The Wee Free Man finished the week with paracetamol. He’s started on his teeth. He’s had a go on the swings. Standing unaided for a couple of seconds too. He’s not five months yet. With his sister we tried to ignore the competitive parent marking of milestones to enjoy her but, if I’m honest, there was a little bit of benchmarking going on. With him though the prevailing thought is, “What’s the rush lad? Stay a baby for a while, please.”

Weeknotes 146: I absolutely love it

By this point of the holiday, I no longer know what day it is.

We started the week with discounted tickets for Gibside and a sunny picnic, accompanied by a shy squirrel. They’ve added a play area to the gardens for the summer holidays and it’s well set-up with good spacing between the stuff to encourage relaxed family play and sharing between random kids. We decamped to the stage area to put on a series of nonsense performances for each other. Following straight from last night’s early night there was noticeably less whining. From everyone.

While waiting for Grandma to collect Piglet the next day, we looked over the Wee Free Man’s gums—definitely teething—only to hear the sound of playing on the trampoline outside. Which is how we discovered Piglet is tall enough to reach the sneck and let herself out of the house. Time for another Talk.

She had a cracking time with grandparents, leaving us free for an anniversary meal and maybe one drink more than we should have had. Followed it with a truly romantic evening spent packing for a night away.

Fortunately for Lǎolao and Lǎoyé, their Queen of the Night epiphyllum flowered before they set off. It opens for one night of the year and this was the third year in a row they’d seen it. Nine blooms this time.

They were scheduled to arrive at ours for midday, once The Chef and kids were back from Artventurers and I’d finished packing. Instead they rocked up two hours early and I had to find distractions for them to stop them helping.

I still had time beforehand to learn Chopsticks on the piano. I’d never learned it as a kid and thought to myself, “why not now?” Took me longer than it would for Piglet—my brain has lost its plasticity—but was an experience I’d recommend without caveat. If you don’t know how to play Chopsticks, get access to a piano or keyboard and spend an ill-defined number of minutes with YouTube open. If you’re under twenty, first I’d ask you to consider why you’re reading an old man blog, but second I’d reckon it’d be less than 5 minutes to master. I took longer.

On the topic of plasticity, the Wee Free Man has conquered grasping things to put in his mouth. It’s a skill that looks to be autonomous and he’d learn it without teaching or example. The nature stage before our nurturing has any meaningful effect. The easy bit of parenting¹ where we live alongside him and he raises himself.

Anyhow. With the car packed, we set off for Yorkshire Wildlife Park and our bell tents. As there was no pitching up to do and there was plenty of space in the field, I let Piglet sit on my knee and drive the car around in circles. The disposable BBQ did better than anticipated and we were full to bursting by bedtime. The on-site bacon butty in the morning was so good that I forgave them that I had to download yet another app to charge the car.

Like Edinburgh zoo, they have an animatronic dinosaur section which was an instant hit. The only hit of a too hot morning with too few animals and too long queues. The park we found for lunch saved a fractious day from turning to tantrums. Everything post-lunch was timed perfectly; leopards feeding, wild dogs hunting, lions feeding, lemurs napping, tigers roaring, otters playing, hyenas prowling. After 5 hours of relentless sun, piglet grew bored of the real animals and we headed back to be scared by the dilophosaurus again. Evolution served warm food an experience not dissimilar to this. It did what it needed. Inspired, we popped the kids into pyjamas before the drive home. And it worked! They slept most of the way and transferred to bed with no bother. A rare planned parent victory.

I wanted nothing more to flump on to the couch after all that, but I was heading back to Yorkshire for the Cricket Dads Away Day, so had to unpack, sort and repack the car before bed.

The Hundred is baffling if you follow cricket. It’s mostly the same game, but wrapped in a confusing layer of branded pseudo-new stuff. We spent most of the game translating the shiny back to the old so we could follow along. Dad chat elsewise tended towards the middle-aged: families, plumbing and the turning of the wheel. The life-sized cardboard cut-out Matty Potts we nicked was good value around the pubs at least. We tried to give him away to some kids, but their dad was (sensibly) having none of it. I think we accidentally made him the bad guy for the car ride home.

10 am is an inhumanly early check-out time and I was hanging. It was good to read messages about The Chef’s trip to the beach with the we’ens. The Wee Free Man’s first metro ride. And courtesy of spillage, his first solid food too. Everyone was too slow to rescue the battered fish from his happy face.

No-one was home when I got back. That nap might be the greatest of the last decade. Reborn after it. Collecting everyone from the baby shower, my only updates from Piglet were about the moth eggs and a reminder that she’s four. It’s her most proud achievement. The Wee Free Man sang songs to me and—we may be projecting here—started demanding “ilk ilk” when he got hungry.

The last day of the holiday was always planned as a mooch about town time. We visited the rocket had lunch in the best fried chicken place in Newcastle and smashed up some art. Piglet took a piece home to turn into a book of a gorilla smashing a building. I don’t want to go back to work tomorrow. It’s all been too much fun.

Weeknotes 145: I’m going on the loggy thing

Northumberland in the summer tests the adage, “at least your skin’s waterproof.”

Monday

The place was superb; fields forever, stargazing balcony, bedroom skylight¹ and fresh bread made by the lovely owners. And a hedge full of free range chickens.

On the drive over Piglet woke as we crested a hill and announced “we’re so high! We’re on top of the world!” By the time we went past the thousandth pheasant she was in small child heaven.

We hung around the site and chilled to start the holiday at a suitable pace. An evening drinking wine on the balcony after Piglet complained that our talking was keeping her awake.

Tuesday

Yesterday was too late a night and the Wee Free Man didn’t enjoy his first night away from home and we had the commensurate late morning. Piglet settled in with a combination of her colouring book and “watching TV” on the log burner. We’re undecided about being pleased at her imagination and lack of tantrums or being distressed by her imaginative play being “watching TV”.

We had a Farne Islands puffin cruise booked where Piglet learned the phrase, “A shag on a rock”, threatened a seagull eyeing up her sausage roll and radiated delight when she saw puffins and jellyfish.

Charging the car while out and about is still too aggravating an experience in this, the year of Our Lord Twenty Twenty-Three. Every county has it’s own supplier and app, which reliably fails the first time.

Is there a more on-a-beach-with-a-small-child experience than unexpectedly feeling wet seaweed dragged across your ribs while dozing on the sand?

Back at our place we had an excellent Co-op pizza and the Wee Free Man got to have his first bath in a sink. Contra Piglet’s last experience, showers are a hit now? So enamoured that I had to promise she’d be allowed another tomorrow to get her to leave. She turned on the charm to convince us she was old enough to sleep in the top bunk.

Wednesday

The Wee Free Man lives for trees. We were the first two up and just chilled looking out of the window and drinking coffee together for a while. Any time he goes suddenly quiet and wistful, we know he’s spotted a tree.

We visited Lilidorei and Piglet has lost The Fear. That’s her in the cage above. It’s suitable for adults to help, provided they’re nimble and not too overweight. Got the helpful advice from an elf before going down the big slide to, “Tuck your elbows in. Too many don’t.”

The weather nixed outdoor Wind in the Willows and we were moved to the theatre round the corner. It meant we got to do the best holiday activity: Car Park Picnic. The show baffled Piglet, but enough scenery was chewed for her to enjoy it regardless.

When asked about the best part of the day, Piglet chose the elves’ fascinators.

Thursday

At this point, we’ve so many disgustingly cute photos of them together, that I’m tempted to break my own “no photos of the kids rule” and make this weeknotes pictures of them being adorable.

The plan today was to find a local river to splash about in. After a short hike we found 5 inches of flow which the GPS swore was a river. The mighty tributary could be straddled by 4-year-old legs. And the whole time a herd of cows stood staring at us until we got uncomfortable and left. We did get a wave off a farmer in his tractor, which will brighten any small child’s day², so not a total bust.

We had a play in a family-sized pedal go kart and headed to the beach in hope of decent weather. It rained. Hard to tell through the freezing gale. While avoiding all the dead jellyfish washed ashore. We cut our losses and tried for food. The snootier restaurants were “booked out” so we ended up in the pub. Not our best afternoon.

Once we’d cleared the pheasant traffic jam on the way home, the Wee Free Man started doling out proper belly laughs for his sister’s antics. We still have to tickle him to get that effect. She’s easily his favourite.

Kids in bed, we took wine out to watch the sunset. “What direction is that?” asked The Chef. Bed-time.

Friday

Another quiet father-son morning. Compared to his sister these are rare and as magical as they were the first time round.

With everyone packed up we swung via Guru cafe for lunch and another round of, “What are you feeding him?” and on to the unreasonable excellence of Berwick Leisure Centre for his first swim. It’s much easier the second time round. Especially with a floaty ring.

As a note to my future self, next time we do this type of holiday we should continue to get up and out early, but plan on being back early too and spending the evening hours playing games, exploring and winding down, rather than sprinting back late and frazzled.

Saturday

The non-stop rain means the funfair was cancelled. Not going to pretend to be too sad. We left The Chef napping and I took the two of them to the library. Came home via the bakery and some puddles. We even watched some TV on the TV. Early nights all round.

Sunday

We’d re-booked the funfair for today’s sunshine. Piglet’s favourite ride was out of commission, but some Grade A Iron Man face paint and too many goes on the teacups allayed any disappointment. I mean, look at how much fun I’m having there.

She went for a pedal with her buddy when we got home. Within 3 minutes he was heading home. They’re too similar to each other and when they don’t vibe, they don’t vibe.

Happily holiday-knackered and ready for the next week.

Weeknotes 144: It smells like meatballs in here

“You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips” is a banger of a lyric to start a song, but is dated as a go to reference for fading love. Most of the metaphors are from a male gaze of an era. Still a tune.

I came home from work to find The Chef mildly broken on the first day of school holidays, with both kids near full whine. They’d been to a playout on the green where one kite was shared between five children and “You’re not invited to my party,” was uttered. God tier fallout for a 4 year old. Sorry cards were written and delivered later to grudging acceptance.

Things ran more smoothly by Tuesday and I was informed that, “We went to the lollipop shop to post a letter!” Which is what you get when you stop by the Post Office for treats on the way home from swimming. Late starts have turned into late nights; awakeness fuelled only by a small child’s hatred of sleep.

While on the drive up to Lǎolao and Lǎoyé’s, The Chef was roasted for being too old to hear the church bells. By the time I was off work all three of them were napping.

Par for the Wee Free Man who’s taken well to his new sleep routine. We spent the week congratulating ourselves on how well we’ve trained him, then realised that it’s more likely that he just hasn’t got a blocked nose anymore. I know every time he’s napping because The Chef sends me another picture of his feet. I’m not going to say it’s not getting weird.

Otherwise he’s doing the normal baby things. He’s sitting up till the second he’s not. He is filled with delighted rage any time anything is within an inch of his face, gurgling “words” to the effect, “That mother****er’s going in my MOUTH!” The only thing that’s more interesting than whatever’s going on behind his head.

I’d written in Morning Pages that I felt a deep glowing internal happiness with life. And I’m on holiday! Even finished work sensibly with all the urgent stuff complete by Thursday. This combination of events might be related.

We kicked it off with wine and nibbles. The Wee Free Man collecting his obligatory collection of waves from strangers. The Chef excited to hear news of a new fried chicken place opening locally soon.

After a delayed 100 day feast we had Piglet’s inaugural art show at home. A guest appearance from Spiderman–shorter than you’d imagine–before the artiste refused to explain her work. A dropped Deliveroo was swiftly replaced by a trip to Asda for some of their much better than you’d expect curry. Away next week, so these will probably be late.

Weeknotes 143: Did you type letters to make it happen?

School’s out for summer. School’s out forever. School’s been blown to pieces. Etc, etc.

I’ve not mentioned them much here, but they’re a lovely lot. Teachers, parents, kids. The lot of them. It’s lucky to be in the tiny catchment area. Piglet went in for water fight day wearing head-to-toe purple because she’s (still) a kraken. That evening was all about Mr Hulkman’s¹ 30 minutes of fun.

Grandma took the first day of the holidays. In recounting the neenaw noise from the fire alarm at the pool, we got an impression that needn’t have been as long as it was. It was less cacophonous when she joined The Chef to play Little Astronaut on the piano.

I eventually got round to repairing my puncture just in time for a wet commute. Neglected to clean the inside of the tire and I get to repair the puncture for a second time.

After a year of suggesting in vain to a colleague how to structure a project I reformatted everything my way the week after he left. I spent time with some bona fide experts, forced them to make a few simplifying choices and we deleted a few hundred duplicate or near-duplicate algorithms. Finished the week finding silent bugs because everything was side-by-side and could actually be compared. Left work feeling inordinately pleased with myself.

The Chef took the Wee Free Man to a baby meetup with all her maternity colleagues. While the chonk wasn’t the oldest there, he was certainly the heaviest. We’ve got him in the 6-9 months clothes. It’ll shed when he starts moving. The boy is desperate to sit up and start crawling.

He’s bang in the middle of a sunny period these last few weeks. Delighted virtually every time he wakes up and starting on proper belly laughs. A new round of jabs wasn’t enough to depress him. He’s too young for treats, so I got a ham and pease pudding stottie in lieu. Not as good as Greggs’ discontinued range, but comforting nevertheless.

Likely as a result of the jabs, he treated us to his first continuous 6-hour stretch of sleep. The Chef needed it: her turn for DOMS after running late for buggy fit in the rain.

Rain that hung around all weekend. We knew it was coming and got in good supplies of food. Lamb and wine for Friday, pancakes—crêpe-style and fluffy—for breaskfasts, Lǎolaode jiǎozi. Thankfully the Fun Zone was cancelled and we could go full weekend goblin mode:

• Hiding in the toy basket.
• Painting a dinosaur.
• Colouring on the tablet².
• Building a couch den.
• Recording slo mo videos for more convincing monster roars.
• Hearing, “You’re not invited to my party” at any minor inconvenience
• Reading with a child on each knee.
• Listening to Yallah Beibe
• Braving the weather to meet Auntie L for Dim Sum.
• Bumping into a long-time old colleague to trade small, fierce child stories.
• Chasing mirror girl and Shaun the Sheep around the shops.
• Painting nails in 10 different colours.
• Reading these great websites (via Sara)
• Meeting the 4 month sleep regression exactly where we expected to. #PrayForUs

Weeknotes 142: The Kraken is cracking

Piglet hobbled in for breakfast and announced “My legs hurt going up and down stairs. Like my bones are trying to escape.” Last week’s Park Run gave her DOMS. Not severe enough to miss her first sports day in the sunshine. A herd of 3 and 4 year olds milling around being cute and confused. One of her friends has an A++ energy rating, drawing zero power when in standby mode. I got to play one of my favourite games: listening to the pseudo-swears of other families. A fiddlesticks and a sugar this time. Which, admittedly, is better than when The Chef referenced “butt jam” during a nappy change.

The sports are having an effect. I can’t circle her bicep with my hand anymore. She’s either getting swole or growing up. Or both.

The Wee Free Man is chonky enough that I’ll not be able to circle him by 6 months. He has a cold at the moment and has lost his voice. Crying with no voice is just the saddest non-sound. Right up there with the micro-expression he makes before he does it.

My early birthday present arrived. It’s canny. ChromeOS is limited, but it can run Android apps, so I have my comic reader back. And it meant I could edit the homepage. The link to Twitter is gone. In a pique of “I could learn CSS one day”, I added hover effects on links.

Piglet’s end of year school report is lovely. As with all good feedback, it contained no surprises. Rather than have it read to her, she asked if she could make up ten songs about flowers. We got lilac, rose, lily, poppy, bluebell, daisy, dandelion, sunflower, buttercup and clover set to a variety of tunes. It was the best. As good as baby smiles, which are also the best.

Bad weather and The Chef joining Team Ill, meant we cancelled weekend plans and asked for an extra night sleep-out for Piglet. The grand unveiling of the Inaugural Father-Son Day¹. Did he have to wear the “I love Daddy” t-shirt for it? Yes. Yes he did. We watched the thunder and lightning together and utterly failed at bottle feeding. While he napped on the couch and The Chef slept, I finished Colin from Accounts. Four quick things on it: it’s great, go watch it; the music is fab too; the way the cancer survivors reflexively ask about how others are doing is authentic and heartbreaking; as someone married to the NHS, the medic’s reaction to health news is 100% correct.

Piglet returned energised and filled with the worldly wisdom of a 4 year old. She might not have lasted in the cinema (too loud and scary), but one trailer and she’s an expert on Krakens. My spatchcock chicken got the two thumbs up seal of approval too.

A tiring weekend. With all the worries about the 4 month sleep regression, I’d forgotten that the more exhausting bit at this age is the daytime. Awareness enough to need constant stimulation, but a complete lack of physical control to do it himself. A two-ish month window where he can’t be abandoned to his own devices. The cost of unconditional love is unconditional love. We expect more illnesses for our run down bodies.

And then he learned to giggle.

Weeknotes 141: I’ll write it in blue so they know it’s from me

Parenting preschoolers is just holding it together. One (1) late night with some TV and beers and I’ve sinuses the size of cantaloupes.

The late night capped a week of insufferable cheeriness. Piglet buttoned her school dress by herself and the excitement was so infectious I was singing and dancing around at breakfast. It got so OTT that I learned When the Saints Go Marching In on the ukulele for her coming home.

A few chill days at work listening to a combination of Daniel Avery and Bazball have helped. Met The Chef for lunch out one day after the Wee Free Man’s BCG and we got a Christmas light walk booked. How’s July treating you?

Speaking of the Wee Free Man, it was his 100 days this week. He celebrated it by learning to grab, hold and put things in his own mouth.

And, speaking of things he puts in his mouth, he’s gone from 9th centile at birth to 98th. You can’t overfeed a breastfed baby, but he’s doing his best to test that theory. We’ve had a couple of eat till vomits this week and when he comes off, his nose looks like he’s wearing a Breathe Right Nasal Strip. Chonk.

To try and push him all the way to the 100th centile, I managed the first bottle feed this week! The Chef’s independent future is opening up. The second feed was hard-fought through tears. Third a bust. Fourth great. And nothing but duds since. We’re chipping away though and he’s already better at it than his sister.

His sleeping contains multitudes. Incredibly light and fussy, but joining up his stretches into longer chunks. We’re back to evenings in the living room. The impending four month regression looming over us.

Piglet had her rehearsal show at MADD club. Happy to sing along with the chorus, but forgetting to sing any time she had to remember actions. We’re not signing her up for Sylvia Young yet.

There’s only one book on the bedtime reading roster; our personalised Father’s Day book. Her life plans shared at bedtime are that she’d like a giant number balloon for every birthday until she’s 18, because she’ll be too big for them by then 🥺

The street party on the green was as damp as Hope valley two years ago. Not that the kids minded. Piglet braved her rollerskates for the first time. Sunday was alarms all round to make it to the park run with her actually-does-these-every-week running buddy. We didn’t come last! Couch-to-2K complete. Knackered by the time we got to Wildside for the combo-fourth birthday party. When we asked about visiting the park that afternoon we got a “No thanks. Pizza and chips in the house please.” A well-earned bath fizzer and made up stories before bed:

“woohoo,” said the Wee Free Man in his little voice.
“WOOHOO,” said Granddad in his big voice.
“Woohoo,” said Piglet in her medium voice.

Woohoo!

Weeknotes 140: You’re the best buddy ever

Hi both of you. It’s been a minute. Now where were we?

Monday

Started the week with the continuation of the “say sorry” saga. Piglet is just too young to fully get that other internal worlds exist and she’s confused why she has to do it, but we’re working on her regardless. Perversely, we’re happy that she shows obvious signs of shame. We’re encouraging her that, by making the apology, the bad feelings will go away. We’re relaxed about it being words, sign or action as long as it’s not a punishment but a repair.

That all said, I failed in my attempts and she went to bed having not apologised and without a story or goodnight song. I was more upset about that than her.

Tuesday

I got my apology in the morning along with the start of a series of unprompted thank yous.

The Wee Free Man is too big now for his baby bath and he shared his first bath with his sister, much to everyone’s delight.

Wednesday

The Wee Free Man has started smiling at The Chef now too. Which is just as well, as his lack of sleep is liable to get him yeeted out of a window one night. It’s time for (limited) sleep training. Blech.

I ran the farewell quiz for a colleague moving sites. His Christmas quizzes have notable quality control issues¹ and it was thoroughly enjoyable to make him go through it from the other side.

Apologies have already backfired; we’ve created the small child insincere sorry statement. Still, better than nothing. Right?

This thread about exciting RSS feeds is delightful from top to bottom.

Staying with the delightful, how good is this tune from my overly talented baby cousin? Stream it thousands of times please so she gets to go on the Gen-Z equivalent of TOTP.

Thursday

The Chef picked up a dinosaur Kura tent for Piglet’s bed. Late night while we waited on the endorphins falling back from stratospheric levels. They were already elevated from playing with Oscar (the tortoise, not the make-believe guinea pig) who we’re looking after while my folks are away.

Friday

The fiscal year is over. After too many hours fighting with our invoicing system, everyone got paid. I got to gloat in my annual performance review and received a “you’ve had a tremendous year” in return. To cap it off, the US are off celebrating moving out of home next week. I can feel the release. Tension can be hard to notice before you relax and realise how tightly everything was being held.

While I shouted at people about receipts, The Chef was playing in the park. Piglet in full pirate fancy dress and bossing the boat. The rain was only noticed by the over-4s.

Want to feel angry again? The Verge are picking at old scabs.

Saturday

Four years on from our last visit, we got some fresh hand and footprint baubles. It went significantly more smoothly than our attempts.

While eating bao buns we watched a dad opposite ignore his child as he tried to send a message. He paid the condiment price as the toddler managed to season the entire table. Banished to the buggy while he finished.

The school fair last year was an “oooh isn’t this fun and interesting” experience, whereas this year was spent bumping into friends and having chats. Getting to knock over a traffic cone with a fire-hose was pretty fun too.

Sunday

Return of Dad Club. Trampolining this time. The gentle peer pressure still works and all of the we’ens threw themselves off the highboard into the foam pit. We had no plans after, so everyone barreled back to ours. Manic. And with the inevitable tears from pseudo-sibling fallings out, but nothing lunch couldn’t fix.

Oscar was touted around by an overly proud Piglet. The kids enjoyed it, but it was the dads who went full high-pitched delight.

The Wee Free Man has justified his lack of sleep by playing with the baby gym. Consciously grabbing and holding the musical tags to switch tunes. Tried to eat them too, but that’s just his prerogative.