Techno genius

It seems my 15-month-old son is a master of modern technology.

Over the last few days he has taken his fleeting moments of chance (when his parents have dared let their eyes wonder from him for a fraction of a second) to snatch the nearest high-tech gadget he can reach.

'What harm can he do?' I used to foolishly think. Well, the answer is 'a lot!' Indeed, it transpires that two seconds are all he needs to press a combination of buttons on the TV remote that fundamentally alters the set up of our telly, muting whatever we were watching, bringing up subtitles we can't get rid of and changing the ratio of the screen to cut off all visible heads! Two seconds!!!!

And it was the same with my phone. A momentary snatch and grab, and now I'm locked out! How does he do it? These advanced manoeuvres take me ten minutes, five different menu screens and about 50 keystrokes, but my genius son can do it in the blink of an eye.

I'm tempted to take him along to CERN, the Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland, to shave decades of work off the boffins' search for the answers to the big bang and the creation of life as we know it. All they really need to find what they're looking for is to allow an infant in the control room for 30 seconds!

On a separate note, does anyone know how to revert my phone's language from Turkish back to English?!

It's been a while...

It probably hasn't required any Sherlock-like powers of observation on your behalf to spot the slight gap between this blog's last post and today's all-new offering. A period of eight months, no less.

However, while this may be stretching the definition of 'regular blogger' a bit far, I am pleased to say that Clued Up Dads is back in action and I can henceforth promise that posts will be at least seasonal, if not daily!

'So where have you been?' I hear you call (or at least vaguely murmur).

Well, when last we met Baby B was but a predominantly immobile seven-month old, happy to stay in one place and amuse himself with a sock. Today, however, he is toddling precariously around the lounge, smashing the telly remote control against the wall, attempting to escape our clutches at every opportunity, eating American-size portions of food and getting through clothes faster than Lady Gaga.

Which gives you a slight clue as to why my dedication to CUD may have wavered slightly over the last eight months.

The time has, however, been utterly magical and although I may moan with increasing regularity today, I wouldn't have changed any of it for the world (frequency of soiled nappies aside).

'So, why I are you back?' I hear myself call, for the sake of a narrative tool.

Well, this July my wife and I will be starting all over again as Baby B2 (The Sequel) is due to join our ever manic household, and I thought I'd share the journey from hereon in with you all once again.

Are we prepared? Absolutely not. Do we know what to expect? Only the prospect of eternal tiredness.

One thing's for certain though, it's going to be an adventure!

Right then, where's that TV remote?

Grab, pull, snap, break...

Nothing is safe. At six months old Baby B has finally mastered the art of grabbing, a new found skill he is using to systematically destroy anything within his reach.

Coating himself and everything around him in a layer of slobber, our little man is now expertly picking up and chewing on toys, clothes, books and television remote controls. Exhibiting deceptive strength, the little chap's little hands have become tools for pulling apart anything valuable - such as his granny's favourite necklace - and inflicting pain upon his parents with his signature 'pretend to stroke face and then grab really hard at skin or lips to see shock in said face' party trick.

At this rate I might put myself forward for the lead role in Scarface 2, while my wife contemplates a Sinead O'Connor haircut!

However, it seems we are not alone. Some clever fellow has come up with a wearable toy to distract busy hands and keep them away from jewellery and hair. What's more, it works.

The 'Playwrap' by BondieBird - http://www.bondiebird.com/ - does for giant adult bibs what Joseph did for dreamcoats. In short, it enables parents to look ridiculous, while their offspring busy themselves with an impressive array of stuck-on, and interchangeable, toys.

Stick the Playwrap over your head, position Junior on your lap, and rest assured he'll be amused for at least the duration of Homes Under The Hammer.

It's a great idea, simple and effective. However, at £28 it is an expensive way to buy a bit of peace and quiet and - probably because it is someone's Dragon's Den-style passion -  it does feel a bit home made.

Nevertheless, Baby B loves it - especially the crinkly butterfly and the bells - and the concept is worthy of praise. Just don't forget to take it off when you answer the door to the postman!

Mini person, mega mess

Casting my mind back to those anxious weeks prior to the birth of Baby B last year, I can recall much of the plentiful advice that came our way from the likes of parents, friends, midwives and random strangers.

Buy this, buy that, avoid that, avoid this, push here, don't push there etc etc.

At no stage, however, did anyone give us any tips on coping with the mind boggling, never ending piles of assorted mess that are inadvertently created by a five month old baby.

Indeed, it was all very well for our antenatal classes to run through the intricacies of childbirth and to let us play with assorted birthing instruments, but where was the lesson on tackling the ever present smell of soiled nappies in the home?

Or how about the worksheet on finding time in the day to hang out, get in, fold up and put away the piles of washing?

Talking of washing, we never used to do that much - two loads a week at a push - but now, with our dribbler in tow, we seem to be matching the Park Lane Hilton for the amount of laundry we're facilitating on a weekly basis. And is there a worse household chore than putting away the washing? I think not, with perhaps the exception of unpacking the dishwasher (a task as annoying as it is fiddly). Oh, and duvet covers...the devil's bed linen!

It's not that we're being messy or lazy either, the mess just seems to appear. Like painting the Golden Gate bridge, it's an endless venture. So, I take my hat off to all those mums and stay-at-home dads out there who juggle the hoovering, washing, cooking, tidying, dusting (don't bother), folding, hanging, ironing, cleaning, packing, unpacking and putting away.

I sympathise with you all, my brothers and sisters, let's keep the nation's family homes spotless. Or, at the very least, let's remember to empty the nappy bin before it overflows and resembles a small landfill site!

Fear of the floater!

Yesterday my wife and I took Baby B for his first swim. A landmark day, the little man was introduced to the delights of our local, council-run swimming pool, complete with hordes of screaming children and, no doubt, a water-to-urine ratio that was concentrated worryingly in favour of the latter.

Nevertheless, it's safe to say, he loved it. In fact, my initial fears that this may have been the shortest swim in history (arrive, change, in, scream, out, change, home), or that a nappy/swimming trunk malfunction would lead to a mass pool evacuation and a hefty cleaning bill, proved totally unfounded.

Baby B took to the toddlers' pool like a proverbial duck to water. Indeed, his reaction was somewhat of an anticlimax for my wife and I, who had been looking forward to this moment for days. I have no idea what we had been expecting - perhaps for B to take to the diving board and perform a triple pike with tuck in to the 'deep' end of the teaching pool - but we certainly didn't expect what we got!

Upon his introduction to the pool, the little man's reaction was.....static. There was no reaction. In fact, he looked bored. While Mrs B and I were swishing him about, acting like idiots, he sat there in our arms, staring at the over-excited infants creating chaos around him, with a look of complete indifference on his little face. It was a tad disconcerting.

After a short while, however, and once he realised that he could splash a bit , the little man did relax and looked a little more animated with the experience. It was a relief for us, our first dip had not been a stressful experience, we had stayed in the pool for more than thirty seconds and, crucially, there was no poo.

As for the future, I'd like to think that Baby B was at home in the water. So, Tom Daley and Michael Phelps, watch out!

What a Comic Relief!

You can't have failed to have noticed that today is Comic Relief day. In fact, it's everywhere you turn; newspapers, radio, TV, everyone is talking about the impending TV marathon.

There's no doubt that Comic Relief is a fantastic charity that has raised millions and done so much for the people of Africa. It's just such a shame that the eight hours of TV that we are in for this evening will be eight of the unfunniest hours of telly this year.

Don't get me wrong. I will donate. I believe passionately in Comic Relief's mission and, now that I am a father myself, it breaks my heart even more to see children suffering unnecessarily, wherever they are in the world. Furthermore, I have immense admiration for all the amazing things people do to raise cash for CR.

I just can't watch the dire TV 'specials' that make up Comic Relief night on the Beeb.

Is it just me or does Comic Relief night make anyone else feel uncomfortable at the desperation of the hurriedly scripted 'comedy'?

Take That meets Fake That, for instance, will see a bunch of comics lining up with and imitating the Mancunian man band this evening. Hmmm, hysterical!

It seems that a standard Comic Relief comedy special is made up of one or more of the following:

1. Flavour-of-the-month celebrity, comedian or Dr Who actor dressing in costume/drag
2. Flavour-of-the-month celebrity, comedian or Dr Who actor appearing in EastEnders of Coronation Street
3. Coronation Street or EastEnders characters appearing in 'wrong' soap
4. News readers dancing to popular song of the moment
5. Politician or public figure appearing in familiar sketch show sketch
6. Politician or public figure covered in gunge

I feel it may be time to nip to Blockbuster for a DVD.

However, before I am chastised for not donning my comedy red nose or slapping a giant one on the front of my car, I must say that I did enjoy the Big Red Nose Desert Trek on BBC One last night. An inspiring show that pitted celebrities against the African heat in aid of sight clinics, it did more to convince me of the importance of donating, than Comic Relief night itself has done in 20 years!

My son, the Jedi?!

Mrs B, being blessed with much more legible handwriting and infinitely more patience than myself, spent most of last night filling out the mammoth Census form that dropped through our letterbox earlier in the week.

Charitably penning the answers for herself, and for me, it soon became evident that she would also have to fill in the same set of questions for Baby B, our four-month old, non-working, non-English speaking co-habitee. Indeed, as the questions progressed, it was clear that BB was seriously letting the side down for us, contributing nothing to the household income and even less to wider society.

'How well do you speak English?' asked the Census.

'Bluhhhhhh, screeeeech, dribble,' retorted Baby B, showing very little interest in this important legal document, before expelling a particularly vocal burp.

As for our infant's previous addresses, it seemed a bit flipant to put 'ovary' in the answer field, so Mrs B left it subtly blank.

It was at this point, as the Census approached the question of religion, that I was glad my wife was in the driving seat. I seem to recall a student-led campaign at the time of the last Census to ensure that Jedi became a recognised religion in the UK. I did, I must admit, list myself as a master of 'the force' in support of this particular religious movement.

Surely, therefore, Baby B is destined to follow in his father's footsteps,  in the same way as Luke inherited his Jedi skills from, um, Darth Vader...which would make me fundamentally evil and destined for a lifetime dressed in black and speaking like I smoke 50 a day! Hmmm.

Perhaps, in hindsight, the C of E will serve Baby B better.

Afterall, I haven't even got a lightsabre!