I want to talk about injuries around the home.

Milo, I believe, is in a high risk category; he is adventurous and appears to have no sense of self-preservation, he has a strong little dancer’s body which he got from his mum and weird powerful little legs like a Kazakh boxer. He also has the family head, which is large. I would conservatively estimate 1/4 of his entire weight is above his shoulders; potentially around 2kg. He also has an unusually tiny bottom for a cranium of that size. The scenario, I am sure, is clear to you. Milo clambers up everything, his strength and determination far exceed his balance and sense. He is therefore terrific at getting himself into compromised positions, but less terrific at getting out of them. His solution is oft to just release his hands and land on his bum, hoping this will be sufficient to counter his momentum. It usually is for a moment, until his weighty head passes his centre of gravity and carries the whole thing backward in an unpredictable and fast moving sprawl.

For example; yesterday Milo managed to clamber into a cardboard box, about 2′ x 1′ and about a foot deep. It had some ballast inside which enabled him to get up and over the lip like a slug. He kind of lowered himself in cheek first while grunting, and then contorted his lean little body until he was sitting upright, as if he were piloting a go-kart. With a beaming smile on his face he then commenced humping back and forth, squawking and slapping at the dangling lid of the box which resulted in a satisfying springing action. I sat and watched this unfold, giggling but otherwise offering no assistance or encouragement (our philosophy on this in a moment). Inevitably of course Milo tired of this entertainment and then sought to extricate himself. Not his strong suit.

I was hovering but trying my best not to assist. After thinking on his strategy for a couple of seconds Milo concluded his best option was to rock the box forward until it tipped. He would then, he hoped, be able to successfully cushion his fall with his forehead (his arms were quite useless, trapped inside the box). Milo swiftly moved his plan from concept to execution and plummeted forward, using his large head as an effective pendulum. Due to my hovering I was able to stick my palm out and catch his forehead just before it made contact with the carpet. Milo, unfazed, giggled and crawled away in his jaunty style, likely in pursuit of a passing cat.

The box

This was a situation in which I intervened because it seemed possible he could really scuff up his face if things went awry, but usually I don’t. In fact usually I try not to watch because it is pretty hair-raising. I can hear him clambering and humping away, standing on his tip-toes and laughing maniacally when a good flat-footed pose and solid concentration would be more appropriate. To begin with this policy resulted in regular tumbles and tears leading to lumps and scratches; I figured unless he experienced these ailments he would never put forth the effort to improve his extrication skills. There are obviously flaws in this policy but I think he is improving. Kuepps and I have removed all objects that may offer serious danger, like big heavy didgeridoos standing upright on wobbly stands with their centre of gravity about a metre above Milo’s head, and the wardrobe that is shaped liked a staircase leading to nowhere, but that’s about it. He now seems to value his body a little more and is easing his way down a little before adopting the face down parachute position for the last few inches. But there are still daily tumbles and his face does look a little like there are wild blackberry bushes growing in his bedroom. This is one of the many parenting dilemmas we face which I am sure continues forever in this theme with greater and greater consequence as they grow. To hover or not to hover, tough one. Hopefully the rest of his body will catch up with the family head soon, and at least for now make that decision easier for us.

So yesterday was family fun-day (Kuepps’ day off) so no blog. Today is Friday and grandma (Lali) and grandpa (Papa) returned from lots of places, but most immediately New York at 0620hrs this morning. That is prime Milo time so we drove out to the airport to meet them. It was a miserably rainy, cold morning so Kuepps took the opportunity to dress Milo in his blue bear onesie from Target; all man-made fibres, quite flammable looking, massively overspec’d for any climate outside of winter in Vladivostok, but really really cute.

Milo was delighted to receive a series of New York Knicks onesies from Lali, including a replica jersey-onesie thing featuring the overpriced man himself Carmelo Anthony. It brought a tear to my eye to see him in Knicks paraphernalia but internally I was apologising to Milo for the lifetime of basketball mediocrity I have now committed him to.

To get full value for the blue bear Milo had his first sleep in it, and then out we went again to take on the baristas. Surely this time. I perched the little smiley blue bear on my hip and ordered my coffee; “small or large” was the only reply, damn it. Good god, he has tiny little adorable blue bear ears on top of his head, he’s irresistible! Apparently not. We took our take away and trudged home in the rain to put on some more practical clothes.

Shortly after we returned we got the great news that Kuepps was on her way home, early mark due to office relocation. So we all went out to lunch together, Milo again eating a wide array of interesting foods and very much enjoying seeing his mum’s face in the daylight. Unfortunately Kuepps offered Milo some sweet potato puree which was a little warm. This soured Milo’s mood, and he sulked for the rest of the meal.

Hopefully the weather will improve over the weekend and we can test out Milo’s new bike carriage in the park (another example of me attempting to force my hobbies on him).

• Number of kale seedlings planted – 6
• Hours spent worm-farming – 0
• Hours spent researching alternate internet plans – 2
• Phone calls to the sheriff’s office to be excused from jury service – 1
• Hours spent re-oiling the outdoor furniture – 0
• Podcasts listened to – 1

When Milo was very little, less than a week, we the desperate eyed, hopelessly out-of-our-depth parents were of course trying anything and everything to help the little guy sleep; holding him out at arm’s length in front of the clothes dryer like some kind of perverse laundry offering as it spun around noisily (because it is well documented that the womb sounds like a public pay-per-kg laundry), walking up and down the stairs with him in various impossible positions (upside down, perpendicular to your torso, slung over the shoulder like potatoes), nestling him in with the kittens in their bed so he could be raised as one of them.

The other thing you do of course is sing, anything you can think of, it seems to distract them long enough to forget all the very sound reasons they had for not sleeping. The limiting factor, we found, is lyrics. There are just not enough 10 minutes songs that I know all the words to, particularly not at 2 in the morning and certainly not when your future sleep is on the line. And Milo is wise to lyric looping, or a lack of confidence. You’d find you could establish a nice rhythm, his eyes would be slowly descending into slits, and then you’d pause and think “oh hang on, how does the second verse of Wonderwall start? Backbeat? or Today, did I do that already? And how many ‘I said maybes’ are there at the end?” Milo is onto this hesitation immediately and screaming smugly at you as your ‘maybeeeeee’ trails off tepidly into a defeated nothing.

At least for me the obvious choice was ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’; long, reasonably well paced, well-known lyrics that present themselves for you naturally out of habit at 2am (as that is usually when I have sung that song out loud in the past). But as it turns out all of those scaramouches are very jarring and always lead to failure. ‘American Pie’, another long rambling classic. Very nice build up, can be sung at whatever pace you like. But once you get into the whole “did you write the book of love?” business it is altogether too peppy and the child is awake, and a loop at this point back to the beginning is too easy for my son to spot and he’s up with renewed vigour. ‘Wonderwall’, as above, the repetitions and non-repetitions always stump me when I am bleary eyed and it has never worked. ‘Let it snow’ by Dean Martin, another great tune, easy to sing but just not enough lyrics to get you where you need to be, and no obvious point for a loop. Kuepps has had steady success with the German classic ‘Schlaff Kindchen Schlaff’, which includes the (translated) lyrics “your father is a sheep, your mother is a camel, there is nothing you can do about it, so sleep child sleep”, but the pronunciation has always stumped me late at night.

I am not entirely sure how it happened, clearly desperation played a role, but the song I eventually fell upon, that Milo for some reason responded positively to, was ‘My Little Buttercup’ from the movie Three Amigos:

Not sure why this song has worked. Charming lyrics, pace can be altered as required and a natural loop perhaps? Not sure, but Kuepps and I have sung this Steve Martin, Chevy Chase, Martin Short classic potentially 50 times a day on loop for the last 8 months.

Anyway, of late I have noticed that Milo is becoming somewhat immune to the song’s charms; understandably it has become a bit stale over time. So this morning I tried to pep it up a little by including all the additional bits from the sweaty Mexican bar flies “a while, a while” (for example). Needless to say Milo was none too impressed, scowled at me, and I returned quickly to the standard version.

After Milo’s first sleep we headed out for our first house visit; lunch with grandma (Ama) and one of his many fine uncles. To add to Milo’s culinary repertoire he enjoyed Rigatoni Bolognese, salmon quiche, broad beans, candied apple and most importantly haloumi which seemed to awaken some deep Grecian hunger within him. An impressive level of consumption for a little body. As his uncle pointed out Milo seems to have inherited the innate family instinct to covet food on dad’s plate.

In the afternoon we watched a beautiful double rainbow over Sydney, although Milo was more interested in watching the escaping cats skip and leap through the puddles, before Kuepps arrived home at dusk to much fanfare in preparation for family fun-day tomorrow.

• Total minutes watching NBA basketball – 48 (alas the series is not a best of 65 so we will now have to find something else to fill our days)
• Number of old travel journals scanned – 0
• Total hours on bicycle trainer – 0
• Total hours spent learning how to craft homemade button-hole flowers – 0
• Total minutes spent planking – 0
• Podcasts listened to – 2 (we are now addicted to ‘Serial’)

Last night was the first time I settled Milo in the wee hours by cuddling him nose to nose in the spare bed (sometime around 0130hrs). This is no great achievement, Kuepps has done this most nights for the last 8 months, but last night was the first time he has let me do it. As he was scratching away at my hand with his little pincer fingers to comfort himself it occurred to me that he falls asleep in the exact same way that I do, obnoxiously; thrashing around, constantly changing position, kicking his legs back and forth until suddenly in the blink of an eye he is asleep. Genetics are weird. I can only imagine how unpleasant it must be to share a bed with us both.

Anyway, today was Milo’s exciting debut at Gymbaroo. After his first sleep we loaded up into the car and drove the 20 minutes in the rain to the salubrious local community centre, home of the ‘creepy crawlers’ Gymbaroo. What is Gymbaroo you ask? Well, according to its mission statement Gymbaroo’s aim is to improve the learning potential and health of children, by providing quality services and equipment, along with current information at the leading edge of educational development, in a fun environment for the child, in an understandable manner for the parents, and at an affordable cost.

Essentially it is a combination of boot camp and speed dating for infants, with more dancing. Milo was moderately impressed by his first taste of Gymbaroo which included five other babies and their mothers. It was a motley crew if I am being honest. There was one kid who looks exactly like Lord Varys from Game of Thrones. Not Lord Varys if Lord Varys were a baby, Lord Varys himself – the Spider of King’s Landing! I overheard one of the Gymbaroo organisers tell Varys’ mother that he is an ‘old soul’, a questionable compliment.

But the sparkiest baby of the group is ‘Pinky’ who cut around like she owned the joint. Half way into the ‘Old McDonald owns a restaurant’ song while little Milo was still very much finding his feet she crawled straight over to him and without a hint of introduction smacked a kiss right on his general face area; more an affectionate headbutt than anything, but the intention was clear. Milo was unsure how to respond but kept his cool. His brow furrowed a little and he just stared at her quizzically. This seemed to be sufficient feedback for Pinky who then kissed him twice more. Big day for Milo.

At the conclusion of Gymbaroo Milo predictably fell asleep in the car, so we sat in the carpark for an hour while he got full value before heading upstairs to practise our new skills, lest Milo fall behind and be counted out of Ivy League schools forever. The mountain of cushions we built for him to refine his clambering and balance looked somewhat half-assed when compared against the professionalism of the formal Gymbaroo, but he spent a happy two hours climbing up and down chasing his own socks, distracted every now and then to pursue the cats down his IKEA tunnel; always interested to learn what they were up to, never disappointed that the answer is always the same. Not much.

The practise must have been effective because his dexterity has now improved such that he can open the DVD cupboard. Thanks a lot Gymbaroo.

Oh, also Milo has discovered my meagre chest hair and loves to reach into my shirt absentmindedly to grab a handful for affectionate yet surprisingly painful tugging.

• Total hours screen printing one-of-a-kind tshirts – 0
• Total hours researching family tree – 0
• Total hours refiling old digital photographs – 1
• Total hours doing tax return – 0
• Total hours stretching hip flexors – 0.5
• Podcasts listened to – 1.5

So, it’s probably about time we as a household stopped calling our son ‘Milosevic’, or ‘Slobodan Milosevic’, if we’re being formal. It’s clear how such a nom de guerre has developed and evolved; Milo is very slobbery and, well, the rest is obvious. One interested stranger, overhearing this in the supermarket has in the past even asked Kuepps if Milosevic is indeed Milo’s full name. Short answer, no we did not name our child after a war criminal.

Milo definitely responded to the name Milosevic today, perhaps a worrying development. Although we must be fair and acknowledge that the real Slobodan Milosevic was never actually convicted of crimes against humanity, dying before your trial can be concluded is not the same thing as ‘innocent in the eyes of the law’. So, perhaps one to be monitored if we don’t wish to provide future angsty teen Milo with ammunition against us.

Anyway, demonstrating our flexibility today Weetbix was served in the high chair, with far superior results. The morning was mostly spent also giving the cats the opportunity to show their patience and flexibility, which they continue to do.

More NBA Finals (Game 5) after the morning nap, Milo showed an enhanced interest today perhaps due to his hero Lebron’s powerful yet ultimately futile performance.

In order to prepare Milo for eating out in the inner city cafe of the future lunch consisted mostly of kale, pepitas and quinoa. You know you’re living when most of your lunch ingredients are not spelled like they sound. Milo loves kale; this is a strange sentence to write, and I admit difficult to believe. But it is true.

To help with the quinoa digestion we prepped the pram and headed out for a walk in the park, to spot migratory birds in the wetlands. Milo used his sharp vision to spot several ibis, doubtless halfway through their arduous migration from Tempe to Redfern. We were both quite impressed by their graceful movement and disposition.

Quaq Quao was not necessary today but a constant game of ‘Milo throw the ball out of the pram whilst cackling so dad can quickly bend over, grab it and toss it back in the pram’ was. The rules of this game are simple. Milo cackles and throws the ball out of the pram, dad quickly scoops it up while making a whooshing sound and tosses it back into the pram. Bouncing it off Milo’s head is ideal. Milo’s sleepy eyes hastened us home for a nap.

On the way up a man in the lift commented affectionately that “she looks a lot like you”. This confused me on a couple of points but we took it in our stride and mumbled the stock answer that this observation is likely due to the fact that I look like a giant infant. We let the gender confusion hang. It is actually a rather common mistake made by strangers. It is true Milo regularly wears pink which may be a contributing factor but today he was in traditional masculine blue stripes, as was I.

Finally we attempted to liquid fertilise the garden with Milo strapped into the Baby Bjorn. This resulted in seaweed on us both and should be discouraged in future.

• Total hours planting trees for the local council – 0
• Total hours spent researching apiary – 0
• Total push-ups executed – 0
• Total objects fashioned out of upcycled wood – 0
• Total hilarious faecal related incidents – 0
• Podcasts listened to – 1
• Intellectual podcasts listened to – 0

After a brief reprieve (three extra days with Kuepps) today is our first day home alone. Friday seems like a good day to start, with two weekend days immediately following to ruminate and tweak the strategy.

To demonstrate how relaxed and prepared we were for this challenge I thought it appropriate to feed him his Weetbix casually in his bouncy chair, not in the regular seat designed for this purpose – the high chair. Obviously this was a mistake and within seconds Milo’s face, suit and bouncy chair were covered in Weetbix. A nude child before 8am, not a good start.

Still, this gave us an opportunity to fashion a nice Inner West outfit and prepare for our first visit to a local caf. After all, I presume this is our future; sipping double shot lattes in various artisan coffee houses around the Inner West of Sydney, blogging, crafting terrariums out of rescued orphaned street plants and reclaimed pegs and resisting the advances of single mums while Milo sits peacefully chatting to himself and learning cello by osmosis.

Our first visit didn’t quite eventuate this way; with an expectant look on my face I ordered a coffee hoping for some light fawning from the staff over my objectively very photogenic child. But alas the baristas barely looked up over their beards and we were soon on our way home with a takeaway and a very un-complimented child.

After a nice sleep Milo was up and so we watched Game 4 of the NBA Finals. Milo was moderately interested, perhaps wisely didn’t really get caught up in the current Dellavedova infatuation, but did seem to enjoy Shumpert’s flat-top.

Not much active fathering was then required as Milo chased the cats around the living room, giggling maniacally and occasionally getting himself into situations that he needed help out of; his strength and confidence are not yet matched by coordination and balance.

Brave, strong – not very balanced

Much omelette eating, another nap and then a stroll up to the high street deli for desiccated coconut and flowers for Kuepps. A second takeaway coffee on the way home (semi compliment for Milo from the proprietor who said my child looked quite ‘long’) and then some flailing coconut cake baking (again as a tangible indicator for Kuepps that we are well up for this challenge) before mum arrived home (cake not quite ready).

I fully accept that moderate success is rarely amusing for the reader, so I apologise. But day one was undeniably a moderate to above average success. Milo was delightful all day, slept well, ate omelette, giggled at cats and Iman Shumpert and even spent some rare happy time in the pram (even if it did require me to sing the theme song to the 1970s Italian stop motion children’s program Quaq Quao on repeat – small price to pay).

• Total hours playing NBA Jam on Super Nintendo – 0
• Episodes of West Wing watched – 0
• Episodes of Game of Thrones watched – 0
• Casual yet spontaneous catch-ups with friends and family – 0
• Words of Spanish learned – 0
• Podcasts listened to – 2

Milo is an 8 month old boy, my son. So far he has two teeth and about 26 hairs.

I am Jupiter, Milo’s father. 30s, many teeth and few hairs.

Kuepps is Milo’s mum, my wife. She has both excellent teeth and hair. Kuepps goes back to work in two days after 8 months with Milo, she is displeased about this. I am therefore attempting to quell my overt excitement at the prospect of three months at home with Milo.

The purpose of this blog is to record this three month adventure for future posterity, in the safest place possible – the internet. Without further ado…