Merry Christmas

Our first christmas together has probably established a pattern that will run until for many years to come: wake at some godawful hour; shout, bark and thrash around until mum and dad have given up the (pathetically unrealistic to begin with) hope of ever going back to sleep; have something to eat and then, once the whanau arrive, roll around on the floor in wrapping paper shrieking with delight as Holly and Isla whip everyone into a frenzy... Not, all in all, a bad way to spend the day.

At this time of year it is customary to look back on the months before they slip away from memory completely and -as is the habit of bloggers & lazy journos- to compile completely self-indulgent lists of the years best, or most memorable moments. So, in the interests of cliche, and my rapidly deteriorating memory, here is the year as Juno Ruby Ryan saw it - almost in her own words.

Favourite moment?

Definitely wasn't being delivered in Hutt Valley hospital. I listened for months to you two banging on about a home birth in a nice warm pool, and what happens?
So I would probably go with finally being able to crawl over and give Max's ear the chewing that it deserves - for months now that hound has been taunting me, well now the tables have turned and, I can tell you, that puppy is mine.

Favourite record of the year?

Fat Freddy's Drop - no question. I just love pumping my chubby little arms and legs to those tunes. A close second would have to be your falsetto rendition of Home on the Range: real special, dad.

Your chump of the year award?

Well, there were so many contenders... But it would have to go to the kid in Pack N'Save who saw me (in the front pack, hanging there like a bonsai tandem skydiver) in that ridiculous white bear suit and pulled on his mothers hand to get her attention and then said: 'Mummy, look at the little doggy.' The kid must have been at least 3 or 4 - talk about special needs, do I look like a doggy?

Any other message for the readers?

Yeah. I love all the gifts that you people have been sending me. I've got a wardrobe that Audrey Hepburn would be jealous of. I really appreciate the fact that you overlook the drooling and the odd ahem accident, and just accept me for who I am. And, really -in the grand scheme of things- pulling dad's chest hair out and vomiting down mum's cleavage are really pretty minor indiscretions, aren't they?

@ 8 months

After a couple of weeks of assembling the basics, trying different combinations and refining the various discrete moves into a single, glorious process, Juno Ruby Ryan is on the move; yep, crawling all over the place.

Max, as you can see, is now getting some real up close and personal attention from Juno on a regular basis. Where once he was free to get up and make good his escape, now he is followed by the sound of an almost obsessive 8 month old, hands slapping the wooden floor and issuing these excited little pants as she hunts him down like the dog he is... No wonder he has just given up and assumed the position.

Of course, it is not just Max that is being followed around the house. Once she is on the floor, you will shortly hear the slapping and the panting, interrupted ocassionally as she takes a little breather, determinedly covering large swathes of the floor in dribble as she moves relentlessly from room to room, or with the weather a little balmier, the vast open spaces of the front lawn.