We're teething for England

We're all going on a summer holiday – well, a weekend break. Yes, George, mummy and daddy and nannie and grandad are heading to North Wales to stay in George's great uncle's holiday bungalow.

Last night we were making a list – no, two lists – of things to take (apart from the obvious stuff such as clothes, toothbrushes and money). One list was for mummy and daddy and the other list for George. Currently, George's list has 35 items on it... our list has four – and we'll still probably forget something.

The only other thing we have to remember is to arrive in time for the England match and to keep an eye on the World Cup schedule. One of the other teams we'd like to see do well is South Africa, mainly because it's where we went on honeymoon a few moons ago before George came along (actually, George isn't quite so in to the football yet and mummy is more interested in the scores rather than watching the matches).

We're also hoping George will sleep well in the unfamiliar surroundings. He usually goes from 7pm until 6.20-6.40am without a blip but this week he has been suffering from a raging bout of teething and has been waking up during the night. At the moment he has one and a half teeth showing in the middle of his bottom gum and as he's a bit late with his teeth in general it seems that all the other gnashers are making a push for the finishing line at the same time.

George, who doesn't whinge much and hardly ever cries with real tears, spent the other evening bawling his eyes out and didn't go to sleep until nearly 10pm. He's been rubbing his ears, cheeks and head in painful frustration and we've been giving him everything we can to alleviate the discomfort – Calpol, Bonjela, homeopathic teething powders, but the thing that worked best was a little dish of ice-cream at tea time.

Hmm... perhaps a little wine will ease the pain!

There is one thing though. George could really help boost England's World Cup campaign – after all, it certainly looks like Fabio Capello could do with an expert dribbler in the squad.

It's a wonderful world

As I mentioned last week, George has started pointing a lot – albeit with a clenched fist. We tend to follow the direction of his thumb and his eyes and occasionally we'll all be looking at the same thing.

It's great that he's started pointing – even though it won't be long before we're pushing his hand down and telling him it's "rude to point". It's great, because to him everything is new and wonderful and exciting, and in a strange way all these mundane things have become new and exciting to us too.

We visited Warwick Park the other day and the view I got, as I pushed the pushchair, was generally the top of George's head. Lately, though, there is the pointing fist and thumb that catches my eye and I tend to follow its line so I can let George know the word for what he's pointing at.

It's not just when he points – both mummy hand I have found ourselves looking out for all manner of things and calling out their names. "Look George – a kite", "look George, a boat" (actually, it was a canoe but we're not so advanced as to be learning boat types yet), "look George, a puppy".

In a strange way, we're looking at the world through George's eyes and it's all perfect and wonderful – the kite doesn't crash and break, the boat doesn't sink and the puppy doesn't chew your favourite toy or poo on your lawn. And in a strange way, we're loving seeing the world from our new 'vantage' point.

It's lovely that for this short time, as a family, we can enjoy a world of innocence, fun and wonderment without having to resort to some form of substance abuse. That said, the other day we gave George an 'E' and 'LSD' – but then I don't think alphabet pasta has any mind-altering properties.

There has been the odd occasion, when George is with mummy or his grandparents, that I've found myself in the Morrisons or B&Q car park pointing at the sky and calling out "oooh look, a big plane"... and the funny looks don't bother me any more, because I'm seeing everything through the eyes of my little boy and it is, indeed, a wonderful world.

Full steam ahead

George has been feeling a bit glum this week. Since the formula ran out we've moved on to moo-cow milk and the change has left him a little blocked up. This has coincided with a renewed spell of teething, so some days he has been a touch irritable.

He's still eating pretty much everything we put in front of him without any problem at all, especially the pieces of birthday cake from a run of recent parties (which probably didn't help to move things along), but the other day things didn't go so well when he had a bit of an allergic reaction during breakfast.

It's definitely not your favourite when your little boy's face turns red and blotchy and looks like he's just landed head first in a heap of nettles. He was having scrambled eggs – he's had dippy eggs before so we couldn't understand what was going on.

Moments before, Daddy had given the highchair a good wipe with Cif – it was a bit mucky and if it's not clean George will eat the dried-up morsels from the previous night's meal – and we're pretty certain it was this (even though it has a picture of a highchair on the back). Anyway, we stuck him in the bath and changed all his clothes and after his morning nap his chubby chops had returned to their usual, less terrifying appearance.

The one thing that really cheered George up this week was a trip on a miniature steam train. After about five minutes of sitting and waiting he was getting a bit fidgety and fed up. Then, eventually, the guard blew the whistle, the driver tooted the toot and the train chuff-chuffed into motion, and George's face lit up with a big grin and giggles. He peered out of the window and watched the Worcestershire countryside rush past with the wind in his hair.

Things seem to be progressing at a whirlwind rate, yesterday he managed – with a lot of stretching and standing on tip-toes – to reach the living room door handle and almost pull it down far enough to open it. Literally moments ago, he crawled up three steps of the stairs while mummy and daddy were rummaging for car keys – and then laughed as he slid back down on his tummy.

He has also started to wave goodbye and point at almost everything – normally with an all-encompassing, grand sweeping gesture that leaves everyone guessing.

With all the noises he's making, we're now wondering what his first proper word will be – other than the 'mama, dadda' sounds he currently makes. When he comes into our bed in the morning he sits up yodelling with a tremolo that sounds just like Jimmy Savile is under the duvet too. There seems to be a growing certainty that the beginnings of his vocabulary could be "now then, now then".

George is our No 1

It was George's first birthday at the weekend and we all had a great day. The weather was fab and George was happy and we celebrated with a bit of a party.

George received lots of great outfits, books, toys, money and even his first football kit – the red England kit with 'GEORGE' and a big '1' on the back.

To mark this special occasion, here is a video of some of George's special, funny and unforgettable moments we have enjoyed over the past year...

The new routine

Now that mummy is back at work George is settling into a new routine. His highlight, or possibly low point, of the week is the day he spends with daddy.

I must admit it can be top fun but it can also be hard work. Last Friday he did three poos (big ones) in one morning and one of them was a split second after I'd changed his full-of-wee nappy – and he was less than pleased at having to sacrifice yet more valuable playtime in the name of comfort and a rash-free botty.

The hard work though, is finding things to fill the time. We went to feed the ducks – they ate from the footplate of his pushchair, deftly avoiding the swipes that would have given them serious headaches. Then we went to the farm shop for some fresh veg.

The week before, George and daddy went to a country park (for which mummy and daddy have an annual pass) where the goats, kids, sheep, lambs and donkeys all got treated fairly with a chummy bash on the nose – the guinea pig almost got one too, but I managed to swerve it away from George's flailing palm.

As it was a week day, it was nice and quiet and George got to play on the swings and in the sandpit without the crowds or the waiting. There were a few mums there with their babies and toddlers and even though I was expecting the occasional weird glance I didn't really get any.

These past couple of weeks George has learned to press the buttons that do the sound effects on his books – previously, parental control meant we didn't have to listen to the tractor noise at every turn of the page. Now, George pulls all the books off his shelf and crawls around pressing the buttons as if he's spinning plates – we go from the tractor's "brum, brum, brummmm" to "moo, moo, moo" to "woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof" to "the animals went in two by two, hurrah, hurrah" and round and round again.

George is one at the weekend – can't believe where the time has gone, surely mummy was pregnant much longer than that – and we're gearing up for a little afternoon party. It's like being a child again, we're really excited for George but he has no concept of time, years and birthdays yet. We can't wait to see what he makes of it all, but he'll probably just want to sit and press all the buttons on his books.

Time for some serious sucking up

Vacuuming has become something of a mammoth task. Before George came along there was only the coffee table to negotiate – apart from the main items of furniture such as armchairs and bookcases – now there's a playmat, a garage, two big teddies, a toybox, a walker, a playgym thing that plays Puff the Magic Dragon and various sea-shanty type ditties, and a paddling pool brimming over with colourful balls.

After seeing this style of home design at friends who'd started a family before we did, it's a look we vowed we'd never have, but it seems that George goes for bold and brash primary colours rather than the relaxing neutrals mummy and daddy prefer – and the additional embellishments to the living room mean we tend to prevaricate over the vacuuming.

It's not just the obstacles that make the chore a nuisance, the vacuum cleaner itself doesn't help. It's getting on a bit. Not only does the head keep falling off the end of the pipe, the pipe falls out of the other bit of pipe and the head has only got one wheel. As for the suction – it sucks, or rather more accurately, it doesn't. Mummy has been on at daddy about getting a new vacuum cleaner, and now that daddy does more vacuuming it seems like her wish may be granted.

There's one sure sign that the vacuuming needs doing – when George finds a crumb of breadstick that might have escaped his tiny fingers during a previous snack, that could be anything up to a few days old and that's big enough to put in his mouth and have a toothless chew on.

Actually, it won't be long before George is no longer toothless. There's a sharp little protrusion on his left lower gum that you can't see but can certainly feel – especially if he bites down hard while you're trying to ascertain the progress of his dental development with your finger.

Considering he has no teeth, he does quite well with the chewing business, even if he does take an age to munch down an ever soggier piece of toast. The meals we make for him are getting more textured and occasionally he will find a pea or a tiny chunk of carrot that he'll take out of his mouth and examine before replacing for consumption. Of course, we always make sure his food isn't too hot before the spoon gets anywhere near his mouth, and I often check the temperature with my top lip, which can have its drawbacks. Here's a handy hint for anyone else who uses this method: Mashed carrot and swede stain – before you go out, check that your mouth doesn't look like you've been attempting the world carrot-stick eating record.

George holds the key to our votes

It has been hard to avoid the General Election – bombarded with news and polls on all fronts. George has another 17 years before he is eligible to vote (that's about another four governments) but that's not to say he can't influence our decision.

On one hand, there's the sensible method. Checking each Party's policies on family issues and finance, education and health care – because we'd love George to be healthy as well as clever.

On the other hand, there's the fun way. We line up three of George's favourite toys – a red cup, a blue cup and a yellow cup and see which one he goes for first.

Now I'm not going to get all political, but the Reds' promises all ring a little hollow and desperate – after 13 years in power they've had plenty time to deliver them way before now, so there are no excuses... and as a consequence the red cup will be withdrawn from the line-up.

There has also been a lot of talk about a hung Parliament, and if this is the case then we could do worse than turn to George and his generation for inspiration. I have noticed how he stares a lot – especially at other babies – and I have noticed how the other babies stare back at him. I'm pretty sure that it's not because George thinks he's hard, but it does seem a bit like a 'first-one-to-blink-loses' competition which continues as George strains his neck around the sides of his pushchair to make sure he wins.

It's certainly something misters Brown, Cameron and Clegg should consider, and a 'first-one-to-blink-loses' competition, like boxers do, would be an effective way to settle vital decisions as well as make excellent TV compared with a lot of what's on. Only thing is, Mr Brown might be at a slight disadvantage with his dicky eye... oh well, can't be helped!

Parents give knowing glances too. A sort of secret world of communication that people without children can't see...

George was sitting in the supermarket trolley and after getting a little fidgety we gave him his milk. He holds it on his own now and only needs a helping hand when he gets close to finishing it and can't lift the bottle high enough. As it's milk he rarely let's go, but on this occasion he flung his bottle across the aisle, all the way from the breads to the toilet paper, and watched it skid and roll across the floor as daddy gave chase (could be the makings of a good game). Daddy picked it up just as another couple passed with their trolley and their similarly aged baby. The wry smiles were enough to reassure me that it doesn't just happen to me, it happens to all parents and that I needn't be embarrassed, it's all part of parenthood, that it might seem like hard work but we all love it really and even though our dignity can sometimes be compromised it gives us something to smile about. All that information in a split-second. I gave a little smile back that said 'kids, eh!'