Friday, December 28, 2001
You know I write articles for many months now. I was born typing remember (pressed the escape button)? Now I add the skill of the spoken language to it. It's very basic, and I haven't got a clue of what I'm saying, but it's fun, folding your mouth and lips in different directions and positions, thus producing very varying sounds.
Very popular for the moment is bababa; this makes daddy very proud and when he has a minute to spend on me, he tries to unleash these sounds out of me. That's because baba sounds rather simular to papa (daddy). Silly Old Man makes two mistakes here: I haven't got a clue what I'm saying and I'm miles away from producing the p-sound properly. This sound takes very advanced skills, like pressing the lips together, then suddenly releasing them while blowing out air with force. Mamama is much easier, and mom seems to agree on that.
Thursday, December 27, 2001
Yesterday I went to the doctor to check what's wrong with me. I caught a very bad cold, bacteriumthingies moved down to the bottom of my longues, tickling my complete interior. Respiration is very difficult at night and they cause me to cry very hard.
But don't worry: help is on its way! I get some medicines now and those should fix it all up. Surprisingly, some of that stuff tastes yummie, I could eat a lot of it, but only one spoon is allowed. Dad says it looks just like that Pink Panther yoghourt he used to eat many many years ago. The other medicine taste like hell, tearing my face into a very ugly grimace. I spit half of the spoon on my sweater just to avoid swallowing it!
Wednesday, December 26, 2001
It's 2 AM. All normal people sleep at this time, and especially daddy should, because tomorrow morning he wants to be at a Zenmeeting at 6h15, then have some kind of Christmas breakfast with a friend. One of the most important things people should know is: you can try to, but never really plan your life. Grownups with babies are very often reminded of this primary rule. By us.
What happened? What did I do? Dad planned it very well, applying some very basic logic: "If I go to sleep early enough, getting up early should be very easy". Since he isn't a Masterbrain, he forgot about the little breaks I take these days during sleep. Crying breaks. Drives them parents mad. Drove daddy so mad, I chased him out of the bed. I took his place in the Big Bed, yes! I'm the man!
Now there are a couple of reasons and theories about the "Bad sleeping behaviour of Feyo":
The real reason? Like I should tell...
- Mr. en Ms. Tooth.
- I catched a cold a couple of weeks ago and those damn bacterium thingies are very attached to me.
- I was in a happy christmas holiday ambiance for two days, and I got a lot of attention, almost too much to handle. I miss this attention at night.
- I'm developing a strong will... I know exactly what I want: being in moms arms or in the Big Bed for my sleeping time...