Lola’s front teeth are working their way through – she now has two tiny nubs to gnash against her two lower bottom teeth and it’s cute, cute, cute.
She’s also showing us more and more of her personality, and I fear my cleanliness-obsessed mother is in there in the mix. Lola’s current obsession is CLEANING THE FLOOR. She passes over all of her toys to get to the yellow rag so she can scrub her floor tiles. And now she’s applying the rag to her pet giraffe, the wall, the chair, me, Rufus… anything that looks a bit mucky. She looks like a slave child. She also will not rest until her dirty nappy is IN THE BIN. I have to walk her, bare-bottomed, with her grabbing the offending nappy in one hand, so she can deposit it and then wave goodbye.
And then yesterday we bought her first pair of “real shoes” – ie the hard-soled leather kind that are supposed to give good support for walking. She’s been padding about in leather booties for ages now and the ice-cream woman from the park is really getting on my tits with her disapproving titches every time Lola whizzes past… She tells me I MUST put orthopedic shoes on her RIGHT NOW because she’s suffering irreparable harm and will end up pigeon-toed and bandy-legged and crooked-of-spine. Crone.
There was a truly adorable range of super girly shoes on offer, but given that Max will be making his debut in just two months, I am buying “unisex” wherever possible. So she’s ended up with a pair of black bovver boots. Kind of construction workers meets Chanel (there’s a stylish quilting effect around the ankle). They’re also still a bit too big even though they were the smallest available, so they’ll be making their debut around her first birthday, I suspect.
That’s another milestone. First birthday! The stuff of dreams. She’s healthy and happy and beautiful … and here. With us. Even with my new sense of flabbergastment over the arrival of Mr Max, I have still not recovered from the wonder of Lola’s arrival in our lives.
I think if I was at home in Oz we probably wouldn’t do a birthday party for Lola, as such. One gathering is like any other for her right now. But Peruvians love parties and all her little park friends have had theirs, so the pressure is on.
And the park is all wet and cold. So we found a place called Chiquitown (sounds like cheekytown, and keeps making me want to sing Funkytown). It’s basically a big room full of smaller themed rooms of toys (supermarket, shed full of plastic power tools, garage etc), a trampoline, a bath-sozed pool full of soft coloured balls, tinny kids’ music, teeny-weeny toilets… heaven for kids, hell for many adults.
The children shall be let loose and the adults shall partake of cake and sandwiches.
So that’s it from Lola. Mr Max was given some airtime on the ultrasound this week and is weighing in at 1.5kg already, with a nice strong heartbeat. He’s called Max so far because his dad is not so good at suggesting names… I decreed he shall be Max until he comes up with something better.