Cain and Abel. Esau and Jacob. Rachel and Leah. Sibling rivalry is as old as the history of the world, my dear Avocado Jnr. While less famous, Mater and Pater have been discovering that parental rivalry (in various guises) is no less potent.
As you entered your sixth month (where has the time gone?!!) the mature, wise and responsible adults who watch over you, began competing for title of Favourite Parent. That is, if it could be called a competition. It was inevitable who the winner would be...
You bounced about in your Jolly Jumper, worked out in your Exersaucer and, lying on your playmat, swiveled in circles of 360 degrees using your stomach as a pivot. And throughout, Mater and Pater "discussed" who your target audience was, who you liked better, who you were smiling at, etc etc.
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When you were born you couldn't have cared less who Mater and Pater were. Milk, clean diaper, a bath, and lots of hugs. Those were your requirements from us and you had no prefence as to who provided them. +065.jpg)
Then BOOM you hit 6 months and start recognizing the people around you. Suddenly you cared who held you, who played with you and who put you to bed. And that person had to be the one you spent most of your day with. Moi! Your Mater. You and I tried to keep this quiet. Just a little secret between us girls. But amazingly Pater noticed. Maybe it was the way your head swung around like the needle on a compass EVERY TIME Mater entered a room. Or that you would only put your head down on Mater's shoulder when you were tired or upset. Or perhaps Pater spotted that when he held you, you arched your back like a contortionist, as you sought out Mater. Not that I complained! I loved the attention...and winning the competition (even if it did make disappearing at nap time a commando-esque task, often requiring a sudden drop to the floor and crawling out of your bedroom on my hands and knees).
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Pater was a sore loser. Mater tried explaining that girls eventually love their Paters much more than their Maters. And love their Paters' wallets more than... Ahem. But Pater wasn't happy. Fine, he said, you may have won the battle, but the war is far from over. And so the parental rivalry morphed into "Who Saw You .... First?" As if witnessing you throw up for the first time is on par with being your favourite parent. And for the record, Mater did...+039.jpg)
Bless him, Pater claims that he saw you crawl (if that's true, how come it has yet to be replicated?). He swears that he made you laugh before anyone else (it was gas). And even that he was the first to see you turn over (Hmmmm, Grandmas Toronto and London even dispute that one). He then argues against Mater's claims to have seen your first self-burp, first smile, first helicopter on your stomach, first, first, first...+031.jpg)
Thankfully, and before blood was shed, Pater stopped acting like, well, um, a baby (sorry) when Mater suggested a (temporary?) truce, with the next big milestone being witnessed together. And here it is below. As Julia Child would say, bon appetit!
Marilyn Monroe thought diamonds are a girl's best friend. She obviously didn't have a teething child when she sang that. If she had, the song would have been "Sophie is a Girl's Best Friend". Sophie who? Sophie the Giraffe, obviously. Toy extraordinaire and your best (inanimate) friend in the whole wide world.
Simply put, Sophie is a gift from the gods, a saviour on par with Joan of Arc, Mother Theresa and Madonna. Not that the friendship was instant. Like many of history's greatest "besties", it started in enmity and when Mater first introduced Sophie, you threw her to the floor like a model in a tantrum. You much preferred to suck on the feet of the toy hanging from your car seat. And why would you like Sophie - she is made of grainy rubber, is painted with a rather putrid shade of brown and isn't like any of the your other mass produced, colourful, beeping, shiny, ADD-inducing toys. Pater initially shared your distrust. The toy came from France after all. Sophie the Giraffe (AKA Sophie La Girafe) was created in France in 1961. Apparently over 20 million babies have fallen under this French spell. But not my Avocado Jr. As if it wasn't bad enough that the toy was made in France, the manufacturers decided to put Sophie's squeaker near her bum. Quelle domage!But we didn't consider the First Time Mater (FTM) factor. Simply put, FTMs are scared to death of getting it wrong and will follow any and all conventional wisdom as laid down by baby books, mummy blogs, girlfriends, sisters and, OF COURSE, grandmothers. And conventional wisdom says that Sophie is the toy of choice for a teething baby. So what's a bit of Francophobia in the face of so much FTM pressure?So we caved...um, I mean, you caved. Okay, I admit it, I too like Sophie's cute freckles, smiley face and the way your teething-whines disappear the moment you stick Sophie's legs into your mouth. I'm still not too sure about Sophie's three friends, Chan, Pie and Gnon (Champignon - mushroom) which are odd looking to say the least. 
But with Mater and the FTM factor, never say never. But until then you seem happy to gurgle, "Viva La Girafe!"
Our dear Avocado Jr., now in your fifth month, you have developed quite the character: giggling at Pater when he makes funny faces (someone has to find Pater humorous), fake crying when Mater leaves the room, and eating every toy in sight when you're not busy sucking on your two favourite (middle) fingers. But, most importantly, you are cultivating that most female characteristic: shoe addiction.
To quote a very wise woman:
“Aidan: Don’t take this the wrong way, but this place could use a little work.
Carrie: I know, but I can’t afford it.
Aidan: You’ve got eight thousand bucks worth of shoes over there.
Carrie: I needed those!”
Of course you need all these shoes, my dear Avocado Jr. Oh, Pater will blame me and suggest that I am projecting, but he doesn't understand that YOU just can't live without variety. Sandals, ballet shoes, sneakers, silver shoes (your favourite), pink boots, red slip ons, suede slippers, flip flops and rain boots. You have them all. And they're all darn cute. Pater says your collection of shoes would put Immelda Marcos to shame. But Pater has the audacity to accuse Mater of buying them for her own pleasure. As if! Every young lady should own Baby Havaiana flip flops. Period. Pater didn't accept that deep and logical argument and they were returned to the store, so we know who to blame if you're on the beach somewhere, suddenly learn to walk, but a lack of Havaianas leaves you flopping around on the sand.
According to http://www.babycentre.ca/ (our bible in rearing you) it's a good idea to let you go barefoot whenever it's safe. Apparently you'll enjoy the sensation of various surfaces (soft sand, lush carpet, cool tile) beneath your feet, and a barefoot base will help you build strength and coordination in you legs and feet, too. That piece of advice was clearly written by a man. You, Avocado Jnr, will be learning the wisdom of Mrs Gump, mother of Forrest, who said you can tell an awful lot about a person from the kind of shoes they wear. First impressions last and shoes form a vital part of that first impression so you need to get it right. And learning how to do that does not happen overnight - a proper shoe collection takes years to perfect.
What Pater doesn't understand is that your shoe collection serves so many purposes - not only do the shoes do wonders for your outfit, they help keep your socks on (and ask any mater, socks don't stay on by themselves), they are fabulous tools to teach you to count (by twos, of course) and they help you learn different colours (starting with certain red soled shoes...). Shoes equal education and that's why Mater has started your education at such an early age. But, my dear Avocado Jr., while you do love your shoes, please let your first words be "mater" and "pater" and not "Christian Louboutin".
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