George is a glass act

I really wish I could read George's mind. He's at that age when he knows what he wants, or wants to say, but can't actually say it – and we're left guessing while he makes squeaky noises. It would help if he could do the "ur-urrr" noise from Family Fortunes – at least then we'd know we were wrong and could move on to the next item in the cupboard/on the shelf/in the dish.

Sometimes we know exactly what he's thinking – and he knows exactly what we're thinking too. Like the time this week when he made us laugh by pressing his nose up to the French windows and pulling funny faces. Of course, we laughed uproariously and the more we laughed the more he realised he was being funny and the more he pulled faces.

The unfunny side of this was the fact that mummy had cleaned the glass of sticky fingerprints just the day before – only for them to be replenished and enhanced with tongue, nose and mouth marks.

I actually quite like the sticky handprints on the glass. There's something translucently beautiful about them (probably just because they're George's and I'm a big soppy dad), but the more perfectly formed prints remind me of the etched glass frontage of Coventry Cathedral – only on a much smaller and slightly grubbier scale.

Anyway, changing the subject, here's why mummy isn't let loose with the video camera very often...

Jumping George

There's not much that gets George rattled, but on a recent day out we sat down out at a picnic bench right next to a peacock.

Once the novelty of the peacock had worn off, George began to take more notice of mummy's ice cream. Getting a little impatient, he must have been wondering if he was never going to get a lick and promptly started his screechy screams (a new habit that manifests itself most strongly when he's strapped in his highchair and wants something). Anyway, the peacock immediately replied with double the volume causing George to nearly jump out of his skin. He was about to start crying but looked at his mummy and daddy to check their response. As soon as he saw us laughing a big smile spread across his face and he started to laugh too – and make more peacock noises.

That's not the only thing that has noticeably startled him. The other day he had his first encounter with a vacuum cleaner. He'd been happily crawling round and ignoring it while playing – until mummy fired it up.

It probably made him jump more than anything, but he burst into tears and crawled behind the nearest chair as fast as his little limbs could carry him – a bit like one of those lizards that runs across the hot desert sand without putting its feet down for longer than a nanosecond.

On deeper reflection, it could be a gene he inherited from his dad. This will be proven to be the case if dusters bring on a nervous disposition or the ironing board causes him to break out in a cold sweat – in which case he'll be joining daddy behind the nearest chair.

George's celebrity makeover

George has had his first haircut this week. Mummy came home from work and her initial reaction was one of sadness. Not because it was a horrendous cut, like a mullet or something (no offense to wearers or admirers of mullets), but because he had lost his little baby look and now looks like a little boy.

I actually quite like it and think he looks just as cool and cute as he did before. And just to prove it, here are some before and after shots including comparisons of celebrities sporting similar styles (celebs on the left).

Before...

And after...

Now, if mummy really wants George to retain his baby looks then I suggest something a bit shorter... perhaps...

No ifs, no butts

Gradually George's dinners are getting less mushy and more, well, dinnery. The items on his plate now have shapes – little cubes of carrot, small spherical peas, pointy parsnips – all of which get investigated thoroughly. A quick rub with the fingers, a squish of the palm, in the mouth, out the mouth and back in the mouth to finish off.

This makes for lots of fun at dinner times when George must feel more like his job is to entertain rather than to eat nicely and not get in a mess.

"Ref, ref... that was a foul. Look, I'm eating grass here, plain as day!"

It's a different story when it comes to things he shouldn't be putting in his mouth. For some reason these items seem to have access privileges and can forego the requirements of the finger test and the squish test... and that list is growing at an alarming rate:

– Nanna's earrings

– Carpet fluff (any suitable fluff for that matter)

– Clover flowers

– Grass

– A dead beetle

– A cigarette butt (I'll come to that in a minute)

– Car keys

– Daddy's mobile phone

– Sudocrem

– Sand

Luckily, we've managed to divert his little fingers away from his opening mouth before the two dock. Grass and my mobile phone are the tricky ones – grass is unavoidably there when he plays in the garden and my mobile is about the only thing that keeps him still when I have to change his nappy. There is something I've learned, though – even though I lock the keypad, it is still active to make a 999 call and since George got to two 9s the other day I've been keeping it out of reach.

"Dad, Dad... that was a jet. It was up there, plane as day."

Anyway, we decided to meet some friends at the airport to watch the planes come in and go away again – for the children's benefit of course. We didn't stop long, just long enough so that it came close to the boredom threshold but didn't cross it, and George seemed to quite enjoy sitting on the wide ledge and wiping his biscuity fingers across the large windows as the jets landed.

We thought it would be a fairly cheap morning out – it was £1 per adult and free for kids under five – but two hours car parking cost £6.50 and mummy had to rummage in her handbag and purse for some extra change. That's when we put George on the ground next to the pay machine – and that's when he found a cigarette butt.

Well, let's hope that's put him off for life.