After cleaning around 200 ml of baby vomit out of the taxi, Little Bear, his aunty and I took the plane. Of course, if it were possible I'd also suggest you avoid being in a plane, probably somewhere over Denmark, when you're baby might decide to do the biggest poo he's done in weeks. I carried him for the second time in 5 minutes to baby-changing room at the other end of the plane getting some sympathetic looks on the way. Then the stewardess asked me whether I 'wanted any help'... Odd I thought: why would anyone need help changing their baby? Then I realised the poo hadn't been limited to his nappy, or his own clothes...
Here we've started a few games that are leading to endless giggles. One where he's put in the centre of the living room, and roles all the way to the side (shit, not a good sign. He was easy to contain before). Another where I tickle him and pretend to eat him whilst he tries to role away giggling or attacking me back (usually through hair pulling and face slaps).
Mamma's flying in later today. Pappa's looking forward to a full night's sleep after two weeks.
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I'm Dave, dad of Little Bear. Also known as 'Pappa' to the little man as we try and bring out his Swedish roots