Baby Pond

One of the toys currently strewn across my living room floor is Squidge’s baby pond.

This was what my mum christened it when she first bought it for Squidge. It’s actually an inflatable ring with a fabric cover designed for the baby to sit in, supporting them so they don’t fall over. There is no water, goldfish or pond life involved.

Squidge has used it loads, especially when he really wanted to sit up but couldn’t unless he was supported and it’s been really useful for sitting him in with a few toys as he can’t lose them.

Toys escaping from him makes him angry.

Think tiny hulk only higher pitched.

Before he got the hang of crawling Squidge would go up on all fours and rock backwards and forwards; it looked like he was trying to throw himself forward rather than crawl. He learned that if he did this while kneeling in the baby pond he could propel it across the room like a mini hovercraft.

It’s been very versatile and stood up to a lot of chewing/bashing/dribble.

Today he learnt to climb out of the pond.


I left him sat in it while I swept the kitchen floor and when I popped in to check on him a few minutes later he was crawling after a toy that he’d bashed under the sofa. He’d clearly tipped himself headfirst over the side and then pulled himself out by holding onto the rug.

Now my only method of containing him is the doorway bouncer which he really enjoys, especially if the radio is on. I on the other hand, fear a repeat of the time that he did a huge explodey poo while in the bouncer and the first I knew about it was a suspicious smell and a dripping sound as he bounced it out of the side of his nappy, down his trouser leg and into the floor.

That was fun to clean up.

Obviously I want Squidge to be able to crawl and explore, to play with his toys in lots of different ways and to be able to follow me about the house. But sometimes I just need five minutes to wash up or grab a drink without wondering if he’s going to be wedged under the sofa or trying to climb the bookcases. We haven’t got the floor space for a play pen or a baby walker so short of duct taping him into the pond I’m not entirely sure what to do.

At the moment he’s sat in a bubbly bath creating watery mayhem and destruction with the bath toys that I think may be breeding. I’m fairly certain there weren’t this many last week.

Or so many with grout whitener on them after a had a wee bit of an accident with the squeezy tube.

I’m also fairly certain that he can’t get out of the bath.

I think.

Not that I’d leave him unsupervised in it for even a minute but even sat here watching him he’s alternating between taste testing the bath water and pulling on the side handles. When he was learning to roll over he went through a phase of practising in the bath and frightening himself half to death when he got a face full of water. We tried to stop him but he was determined it was a good idea, at least for the first three or so times he tried.

I’m really not up for a trip to A&E.

Especially as the Northern One is out on his work’s Christmas jolly.



I’m quite happy here with my podgey tummed, whiffy bummed little anarchist who has developed the habit of waiting until he has a mouthful of food to sneeze.

Multiple times.

I have something in my hair that I think is Petit filous.

I also have wine and a baby to turn into Santa with the aid of bubble bath.

Who needs adult company?

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