viz a tiny piece of chorizo that has been cooked in hearty bean soup, eaten, vomited on to a cot sheet and gone through the looooooong cycle on the washing machine is still, identifiably, chorizo. No shit.
Evil spamlords have stolen this post.
Today is, as Sage calls it, Jet’s last day of being none. The camera’s off getting fixed, so the most up to date photos are from December:
More for the clucksters at Flickr
Jethro has been crawling for the last couple of weeks, which is a pretty impressive feat when you consider the obstacle of his hip brace. I think he looks like a demented amputee spider:
And as of yesterday, his brace is gorn, although he’ll still be monitored to make sure his hip sockets deepen properly. If they don’t he’d have to have surgery to do it in a couple of years. Sage is excited that we have a “plain baby” now. Me too.
If you have kids (and perhaps if you haven’t) you’ll know that as soon as they start moving their sleeping goes to the dogs because every time their sleep cycle lightens they urgently want to do more sitting/crawling/pulling up, etc. That would explain why I found Jethro in his cot this morning having (a) taken the light globe out of my beside lamp (b) opened a water bottle and (c) poured the water all over himself and a container of nappies under the cot. He was very pleased.
Some people, they like the vintage knitting patterns because they are cool and amusing.
Some people - people like me - show a little more dedication:
And a better view of the hat:
The grubby beige thing in the second photo is his hip brace; the expression in the first photo is what you look like when you are rubbing your bottom tooth in the gap where your front tooth will be once it cuts through and you cease resembling The Count from Sesame Street.
Thanks to Granny for her knitting magic. It even has a label inside that says “Made with love by Grandma”.
The day before yesterday, somebody I don’t know died. I don’t know anything about them or their death, but I can guess some stuff.
She (I’m guessing) would have been reasonably young. It’s unlikely that she died of a chronic illness - in fact she was probably healthy. It may have been a sudden thing, perhaps an accident? It’s likely she was in hospital when she died.
She was an organ donor. Not guessing that part.
One of my dearest and oldest friends has received the kidney transplant he’s been waiting eight years for. I don’t just love him, I’ve always really admired him too - he is a magnificent individual. There were tears and whoops of joy all over town as our little impromptu telephone tree spread the news. It felt so good to make those calls.
Of course it’s only the beginning. He’s in a lot of pain, and his mum said there were “a few effs”, benignly ignored by the nurses who couldn’t give him any more pain relief in the middle of the night. But it is a beginning, and it is possible because of that donor’s gift.
It’s estimated that around 100 people die every year in Australia waiting for organ or tissue transplant; our donation rate is amongst the lowest in the developed world. Every donor can save the life of up to ten other people. (source)
You can register to be an organ donor online. Please do.
Happy Father’s Day for yesterday, which in our house this year was also Dad’s birthday. There were socks. And there was metallic pasta art:
Here’s Jethro a week ago today, a few hours after his hip spica came off and we got to ticklin’:
He’ll wear this brace for three months at least, but it can come off to change or bathe him (not that he’ll go anywhere near water yet).
