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 and as a consequence the red cup will be withdrawn from the line-up.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!'

Our bad day

Thankfully, they don't come along very often, but some days can be the worst days imaginable. Crappy beyond belief. That said, I'm sure there are people who have had far worse days than I have ever experienced.

This recent bad day involved a car and money and left us both feeling miserable and sorry for ourselves – but in the context of things, bad news from a mechanic is not as bad as bad news from a policeman, doctor or a court of law.

The prospect of losing money, along with the necessary outlay of more money, was something that had us stumped at what we could possibly do to retrieve the situation. Unbeknown to us, a solution to half our problem was on its way in the form of an extremely kind offer from George's grandparents on daddy's side.

Suddenly, an overwhelming sense of relief lifted the gloom and blew nearly all the worry away. Then, when George was brought home by his other grandparents he gave a smile that would lift the corners of anyone's downturned mouth.

George isn't yet aware of bad days like we know them – he has occasional days when his gums hurt, his nose is snivelly, he can't sleep or he is fed some food he doesn't like the taste of – and generally enjoys a happy, care-free life. And we're just so happy he lives with us.

All the bad days added up come to nothing at all when you're stacking cups, singing rhymes, reading books and making your little boy laugh – any mum and dad will tell you.

The smile that makes everything all right

It's wearing thin

George is growing so fast it seems that no sooner have we bought him something than he's grown out of it – or it's irretrievably stained by baby juice or baby vomit.

Now he has started this crawling lark, it's not only George who is getting through clothes as if they were disposable nappies. Daddy spends a lot of time on the floor these days and the knees on his jeans and trousers as well as the elbows on his jumpers are looking almost as thin as the hair on his head.

And then there's the washing powder we're getting through... after all it's been a long time since mummy or daddy had grass stains on their knees.

Crawl of the wild one

He's a bit like a crawling version of the Scarlet Pimpernel – he's here, he's there, that crawling child is everywhere – his heaven is exploring, our hell is trying to keep him in one place, and when we're trying to change his nappy he's a darned elusive little fella.

Sleep routines have taken a turn for the worse – as soon as you turn around, George is up on his feet with an expression on his face that says 'hey, look what I can do – and I'm not even tired yet'.

We've been trying to work out why he has started to do battle with bedtime and came up with a number of theories...

Perhaps it's because the six o'clock episodes of Waybulloo have come to end.

Perhaps it's because the evenings are getting lighter.

Perhaps it's because we've turned the heating down.

Perhaps it's because he can smell our dinner cooking.

Perhaps he thinks his toys come to life after he goes to sleep – they've always tidied themselves up by morning time.

In the end we decided it's actually down to the fact that when we put him down he can sit up and stand up. Before, we'd lay him on his back and he had no choice about it (happy days).

This week George has had his first full day at nursery – which was a success (success being eating, sleeping, pooing... the same way that daddy measures a good day).

George also had his first encounter with a donkey, a goat, a sheep and a guinea pig. We were a little concerned that the donkey might nibble off one of George's fingers, so rather than do a before-and-after count we kept his fingers safe and just let him stroke the donkey's nose instead of feeding it. Moments later and George has grabbed a fistful of donkey fur – well at least donkey fur grows back. After the guinea pig nearly got whacked – almost in the Mafia sense – we decided it might be a good idea to do something different.

Nanna's dog is often on the receiving end, too. Daisy – a lolloping, hairy, docile Labradoodle – used to gently creep as close to George as she could – occasionally stealing a lick as George stuck out a hand. Now that George can crawl, Daisy takes cover in her basket under the kitchen table.

All work and all play

Today was mummy's first day back at work – with daddy at home and in charge of the day.

The night before I had been tested on my knowledge of what goes into a change bag and quizzed on George's timetable of eating, sleeping and nappy changing – with instructions to get him to stay asleep for as long as possible, which when it came to it I'm pleased to say I did (a veritable afternoon sleepathon of 1hr 35mins – much better than the usual 35-40 mins).

The day began when I dropped him off at nursery for his taster morning session – he starts his full one day a week next week – and he didn't seem at all bothered when I left him behind. On picking him up I had strict instructions to quiz the nursery nurse on how much he ate (lots of breakfast), how much he pooed (none), and how long he slept (not quite long enough for mummy's liking) and to wire my report back to HQ via mobile phone.

Then I had him all to myself for the whole afternoon – and now he's crawling I spent the entire time on the floor. Trying to check a nappy for signs of poo, let alone change one, is a feat in itself when George is scrabbling across the carpet with his mind set on scaling the dizzy heights of the bookcase.

Mummy arrived home just after 5pm – I swear I've never seen her walk up the path so quickly – and said that even though her first day back at work had been a success, she had really missed George (and daddy – in verbal parentheses) and that the day had seemed very long. For daddy the day had simply flown by and judging by the huge smile on George's face he had certainly missed mummy too.

There's just one question for mummy for tomorrow's itinerary – I don't think I've got the bath routine quite right, could you run it by me one more time please?

PS: Do you think those tap handles make him look like a little devil?

A change is gonna come

George was a bit poorly yesterday and feeling a bit sorry for himself he slept on the sofa with mummy for most of the afternoon.

As well as being the first time he has been proper poorly it was also the first day of proper crawling and as this mummy's last week of maternity leave she's getting proper anxious – and proper sad at the thought of not being with him.

Anyway, after his cuddle George awoke refreshed and just as mischievous as normal and immediately pressed on with perfecting his crawling.

So that mummy doesn't miss George too much, I've made a little video of clips set to 'mummy and George's song' that she can have a peek at when the boss isn't looking...

The carbon king

Well, it's Budget day and one of the things Darling has been targeting is carbon emissions (that's Darling the chancellor and not darling the wife), with a £2bn investment in low-carbon industries.

Over the past year carbon emissions in our home have been steadily rising. George's size-to-gas-emission ratio is one of the highest on the planet. He has also single-bottomedly created enough waste to warrant his own landfill site. Having said that, we did try washable nappies and were prepared to put the effort in for the sake of the environment, etc (which some say is debatable when weighing up the pros and cons of energy used washing against the effects of disposal). Anyway, washable nappies didn't soak up any wee and George ended up sitting in his own pee if he wasn't changed absolutely immediately, and – as any parent will tell you – the welfare of their little one comes before the welfare of the environment. So comfy disposables it is.

As I may have mentioned before, George has a habit of opening the fridge and leaving the door open, albeit for a matter seconds at a time, but if you add them up it runs into minutes, then it will be hours – and if he's still doing it when he's eighteen – years!

Who... me?

As he doesn't walk or ride a bike yet, he gets ferried everywhere in the car, and as mummy is back to work in a couple of weeks we have had to go back to being a two-car family so that daddy can drop him and pick him up from nursery and grandparents' houses.

Recently, I saw a fellow-blogger's video version of the Daz doorstep challenge – but when George gets hold of a plum even the hottest wash barely touches the purple splatters, spillages and stains – in fact, George generates enough dirty stuff to keep Dot's laundry on EastEnders in business.

I don't know what the answer is, but whatever you do, don't tell Darling – he might introduce a special George tax.