Bad daddies, travel with baby and other stuff

MrT had a bad parenting moment yesterday- glad to see it's not just mums that have them.

Patrick fell asleep eating lunch in his highchair. MrT wasn't sure what to do so he just left him sleeping there, slumped forward in the harness.

I haven't been writing or reading much because we've been away a bit... first to Vanuatu for an awesome holiday in early June. We stayed at one of the big resorts mainly because they had the whole baby option, but we spent a lot of time travelling around on the cheap local buses and eating at the Port Vila markets. I won't be all trite and say I felt a real connection with the local women who had their babies at the markets, because there simply isn't a comparison- dirt poor subsistence farmers with highly paid western doctor- our lives are so far removed that connection does seem a farcical concept. But we did share a devotion to our offspring, and we all laughed at our babies staring shyly at each other and patting each other's hair.The local kids generally take part in looking after all the younger kids, so at the playground Patrick was often helped onto the slide and pushed on the swing by clusters of giggling ni-Van kids. There was nothing in my trusty guidebook (I have a fondness for the Lonely Planet series unchanged by recent controversy) about breastfeeding in public, so I asked some of the nice maternal ladies at the hotel. At first they looked confused by my question- do I need to go "somewhere" or "cover up" to breastfeed in public "it's not taboo?" but then erupted in fits of laughter at even the concept- "Noooo! It's too hot! Just feed anywhere!". Patrick had a ball- there were plenty of people to play with, bananas to eat (a hand of lady fingers at the market cost 50c), and 'walking shells' (hermit crabs) to be fascinated with: but the thing that he loved best was the feral kittens that invaded the hotel's verandah restaurant looking for scraps. He got a massive sand crotch from this place but flaked out under a palm tree for a nap whilst I went snorkelling. In short it was awesome, just what we needed. I can thoroughly recommend it as a 'family' holiday destination- none of the tenseness of Fiji, not as expensive as Tahiti, better beaches than Rarotonga, and warmer than New Zealand!

Last week I was in Melbourne visiting my brother and sister in law and their three kids. I love Melbourne- if it had better beaches I'd live there- and we got to have a cuppa with J-Le and Drew whilst Patrick ran around the cafe causing havoc. So nice to meet other bloggers- just a pity we couldn't make it to blogher (the 3 hour flight to Vanuatu was enough, thanks). Whilst we were there Patrick and I picked up a hideous cold- he's nearly recovered, but I'm still sick- sick enough that even the Orthopods told me I should go home...

[In every profession there seems to be a specialist area that is always the butt of the jokes- I'm told for teachers it's the Phys Ed guys or the Kindergarten teachers, for Lawyers it's family law and so on. In medicine, it's the Orthopaedic Surgeons that are seen to be the dumbest. Why? Well, I can't say that 12 years of doctoring has given me any reason to contradict this concept, and certainly most orthopods don't try to change their image at all- most live up to the 'bone head', 'knuckle grazing', 'If it's not a bone I don't want to know' stereotype amply. Individually they can be engaging, funny, articulate, intelligent and charming, but collectively, well, they only seem to care about, well, bone. And power tools. And Bone Wax. And dynamic hip screws. And implants. And very little about other concepts in medicine, like, for example, cardiac function or pulmonary fitness (ie hearts beating and ability to breathe). Wholistic, patient-centred carers they are not. Bone surgeons they are. If an orthopod says someone looks unwell, they are generally comatose or just about to arrest. I'm not saying they aren't highly skilled at what they do- they are, and some of the finest surgeons are orthopods, but the key thing here is what they do. And not what they don't.]

Now where was I?

Can't remember. Dextromethorphan ain't all that crash hot for my cough, but it does make my head spin. And gives me weird dreams about bloodsucking aliens. Which was probably influenced by watching the Christmas edition of Doctor Who that MrT taped for me (David Tennant is the best Doctor. Ever. Better even than Tom Baker. And a major hottie).

I have posts in the works about "are australian tourists the new american tourists?", a reply to a meme, and oh, some photos and stuff. And, tantalisingly, ttc stuff. When I'm better, I'll get offamy sorry arse and put them up.