Dylan had three jabs last week – well, four if you count the one he landed on my eyeball – and we were told that one of the side effects we should expect while he got used to them was some subdued behaviour. Au contraire! For the most part, he’s been the complete opposite and seems to think he’s participating in a one-baby demolition derby.
I suppose we should have seen the signs that he is fast becoming a destructive force of nature coming a while back when he invented the apparently hilarious playtime activity ‘take all of the Xbox and Wii games out of the TV unit and chuck them anywhere’. He’s now into – and, of course, emptying – absolutely everything; drawers, cupboards, the boxes we still haven’t unpacked since moving in over a year ago, you name it. Naturally, the kitchen bin and the toilet are also areas of particular fascination; fortunately he can’t empty the latter, small mercy.
|Dylan was here|
His new favourite place, however, is the CD cabinet – presumably because it’s perspex-windowed doors have a vaguely reflective surface in which he can admire himself while getting up to mischief. He likes to stand against it, slapping it repeatedly and yelling at the same time. He has also sussed out how to open it so that he can delight in his twin hobby of taking the CDs out of it and throwing them over his shoulder in a dismissive fashion. Rather spookily the other day, he only picked out one: Back to Black by Amy Winehouse. A mark of respect, I hope.
Meanwhile, getting him changed for bed has become a knackering experience. No sooner have Kate or I put him down on the changing mat and removed his old nappy than he’s up and off again, lumbering out of the bathroom and ominously towards our bedroom without anything on his bottom half and emitting a maniacal laugh that seems to say “Nice carpet. Want me to shampoo it?” On the rare occasions in which he condescends to stay put, he does his best at emulating the cast of Riverdance, making the task a gift that keeps on giving. Joy. It actually took me 20 minutes to get a clean nappy on him the other day, no word of a lie. Then there’s the wrestling match that is getting him into a sleepsuit. This process is not dissimilar to that of dressing an octopus – come on now, don’t pretend you’ve never done that. We’ve all been there.
Thankfully, this last scene of carnage normally tires him out for the day and he’s soon fast asleep, looking as though butter wouldn’t melt. Then all that remains is for us to clear up the trail of destruction that is evidence of the daily dose of Dylan’s demolition derby.