The occasion of your baby's development tests is a very emotional one in the life of a first-time parent. There is a lot at stake. For one thing, on a bad day, the district nurse might go away not realising your baby is a genius. On a more profound level, however, you're aware that this is the first in a long series of examinations your child will undergo, the outcome of which will decide some far-reaching things - like whether or not you can retire early.
So a certain amount of anxiety is understandable. This was heightened in our case when the nurse suggested the tests should be done at the time of day when the baby was at her most lively. However, since 3 a.m. didn't coincide with the nurse's normal working hours, we took a chance and fixed the appointment for noon instead.
Of course, there was a risk the baby would be asleep at that time. Equally there was a risk she'd be awake and chewing the telephone wire. Renovations to the house have left us with about half a mile of exposed telephone wire in the livingroom and for a whole month recently, the baby's daily to-do list would invariably read:
1. Crawl over to telephone wire and chew until Daddy intervenes. 2. Crawl back to wire and chew some more. . . And so on.
There was a single-mindedness about our daughter's wire-chewing project that you had to admire (her obsession reminded me of the advice of a cynical friend on hearing I'd had a daughter: "Get an itemised phone bill now"). But it wasn't the sort of thing you wanted the district nurse to see.
Fortunately, on the morning of the tests, the baby was on her best behaviour, steering clear of the phone line and instead performing a wide variety of activities from the How to Charm Your Parent textbook.
It was so good I almost forgot about the tests. Then, at 11.30 a.m. I suddenly looked at my watch and realised: "Oh no - she's peaking too soon!"
I had no choice but to bring her in for a pitstop. Fortunately, babies have a lot in common with racing cars, and not just because both make a lot of noise and are prone to accidents. There's also the fact that fuelling has a temporary slowing effect on them.
By making up just enough of a bottle, I was able to calm the baby down for a short while; until, by noon, the change of tyres was taking effect and she was setting new lap records around the sofa.
In case you haven't had the experience, the development tests are a fairly simple affair, requiring a parent to hold the child in front of him or her while the nurse, standing behind both, throws little bricks over both their heads.
The point of this exercise is that baby's attention is transfixed by the flight of the bricks. Indeed, the baby is probably thinking: "Big deal! I can vomit that far, without even trying." But while her attention is distracted, the nurse then makes a variety of noises from behind to see if she reacts properly.
To my great relief, our baby passed all the tests, reacting in the correct way every time, with no hesitation. Unfortunately the same couldn't be said for her father.
One of the difficulties with development tests is that first-time parents, who are invariably suffering from temporary brain damage, can't resist saying things like: "Ooh, look at the lovely coloured bricks the nice nurse is throwing".
This makes the baby look around, which of course defeats the purpose of the exercise. Yet parents can't help themselves - it's completely involuntary. And it took two or three attempts by the nurse until I eventually managed to stay silent (I was rewarded with a pat on the head).
Also, some of the nurse's questions I found a bit difficult - like what the baby had for her main evening meal. "Er, mashed potato and parsnip and mushy peas, and that sort of thing," I guessed, never being involved in the preparation of that particular event. The baby knew I was lying, but she didn't let on.
The nurse may also have noted that my ability to retrieve bricks from behind the television set was sluggish, on account of a bad knee, a couple of old football injuries, and a diet much less healthy than the baby's. It was lucky, as I said to my daughter after the tests, only one of us was being marked.
IT'S one of the tough things about parenting - that the child's physical development often coincides with your physical decline. Certainly, fitness can be one of the first casualties of parenthood: you never get a good night's sleep any more; you don't get out of the house; and when you do, you drive most places.
Also, your wits gradually disappear, especially after your baby gives up harmless activities like chewing the phone line and moves on to things like trying to stand up unaided, and scaring the bejaysus out of you by falling over all the time.
This probably explains the incident this week with the new playpen. My wife insisted on assembling this, and after an hour or so of painstaking work, punctuated by comments about how all assembly manuals are written by "stupid men", she stood back to admire the finished article. Then she realised the props for the base were all on the outside.
Me and the baby had a good laugh about that and so, after a while, did the baby's mother. But if lack of sleep and constant worry are the price of having children, it's a price you're glad to pay when you see your child develop.
I reassured my daughter on this point this morning. "The world is your oyster," I said to her, "there are absolutely no limits to where you can go."
Then I put her in the playpen.
