Had it with Scans

  I hit the eleven month mark and Dad drags me off for another scan. This time he starves me from one in the morning and promises to feed me after the scan at about eight. We get to this big hospital at the ungodly hour of 6.30am and proceed to wait and wait and wait. They then tell him they can only do me at 9.30 as the nice man that puts you to sleep is running late. By now my tummy is rumbling something serious and I need food and drink badly. I start to yell and cry but they ignore me at first. Eventually Dad throws his toys out the proverbial cot and attacks the management. They try to calm him down and he threatens to walk out. Eventually they call my number and down we go to this humongous machine. I am very unhappy and crying and thrashing about. This sleep mechanic then holds me down and proceeds to gas me unconscious. Dad take one look at this and bursts into tears. I was so embarrassed. One of the nurses even passed him a box of tissues. Can’t imagine what they must have thought. I drift off and they drug me further. Half an hour its all over and am I ready for food. I knock  down two bottles and as soon as we are home I polish off four servings of food. This fasting stuff is not for me. They give Dad a CD showing  the inside of my head which looks like a scary movie. Once again the report is so so with no major problems. Once again I told them not to waste so much money. Dad still insists on a breakdown from one more baby brain expert before he calls it a day and lets me be me, small head and all.

PS Dad blames the fuzzy picture on the magnetic waves. I say he needs to sharpen up.

On your Bike

Today  Dad reckons I am ready to hit the road so to speak. Thanks to Sharlene Versveld who gave him this special backpack thingie I now have to tag along with him on the beachfront. I mean there are over seven kilometers of cycling trails there with lots of nice eating places en route. It was such a long cycle that I dropped off to sleep in my little cocoon . Trouble is I’m getting heavier so Dad better buy one of those attachment seats to take the load of his aching back . In the meantime I cling on for dear life as he dodges all manner of skateboards and learner bike riders.

Look no support

I agree that last bath shot was not a true reflection of my sitting abilities. This one is the real thing. Can you believe Dad is taking me to Entabeni hospital on the 15th July for an MRI scan. I have to be there at 6.30 in the morning. They will put me back to sleep and have a good look into my head. Bet they wont find anything amiss but one needs to be sure.

I’m sitting pretty

Yes folks that’s right. I am officially sitting around these days. In fact I can sit for ages playing with my toys before I get bored and roll over backwards. I can also stand if Dad holds my hands. My weight is slowly but surely increasing now that I am eating more fats. (7.2kgs)  I am also learning to put food in my mouth and hold my own bottle.I am still working on this crawl thing and can assume the position but am happy just bouncing like a frog for now. Give me a little more time and I will take this place apart. Dad still wants to take me to another pedio neuro something to look into my head. Not sure why but I guess I have to comply as after all he buys all my food and stuff. Will update you all again soon.

A tough One (9 months)

Normally when people accuse one of having a big head it is a derogatory remark. Now the thing is this that the special Doctor they call a paediatrician tells me I have a small head. Dad rushes me off to this nice man after the clinic sister said my skull has already closed over meaning that little hole that us babies are born with to allow space for brain growth has done its thing already instead of waiting another six months or so. The Sister said they might have to cut a piece of my skull out to make way for my expanding brain. Well the good Dr would have none of this and simply said my brain had stopped growing and thus the skull bones had fused over already. Did Dad go into a panic or what? He then rushes me off to have a scan where they strap me down in this weird machine that sounds like a dishwasher with disco lights. I lie very still and as usual all the staff are amazed at how good I am and no sedative required. The scan results are pretty bland and nothing to report. I could have told them so but no they insisted on this outrageous expense. Dad then calls in his connections to give me a full assessment on my motor skills  speech etc. I once again pass nearly everything with flying colours bar the crawl and chat thing. Now they expect me to do more tummy time and other exercises to build more muscle. I am also being fattened up with cheese and meat for the first time. What next? In the meantime I continue to charm everything in site and do my own thing with laughing and kicking my legs like an Irish dancer. Ok so my head is two measly cms below what it should be. Can I help it if I am so cute and look like a little doll in perfect proportions. All the other babies I check out seem to have these monster heads and small bodies. I’m special and will prove the Dr’s wrong . Watch this space. Oh yes Dad has eventually calmed down especially when I give him my special smile.

Eight and a bit

My first Easter and they give me this chocolate egg wrapped up in shiny paper. I know I have five teeth already but this could still be a tough one to crack. No one has cut my hair ever, so now I have long bits that curl up from the original hair and the rest is new hair. Dad wants to cut them off but is faced with a barrage of protest from my admirers. What is a gal to do?

Read and Write

I am only eight months old and Dad expects me to start reading books. It’s all very well looking at pictures but I have no idea what those strange symbols mean. Surely us babies and kids can mess about until they send us off to that place they call school. So for now Dad can just read for me when I feel the need.