It is a truth universally acknowledged that … No… No… We do NOT put our shoes in our macaroni cheese … if you’re going out with your toddler – you will need to get up seven hours early. So I did. And the house was dark and peaceful so I decided it was the best time to do the washing up. Or it wouldn’t be done. And I was excited! Excited for the day ahead.
But what’s this? He’s up! He knows, we have an exciting day ahead. So you set up the fortress of gates and cushions and he charges around on his chubby stumps like a demented Rhino. Remember when he was cute, defenceless, weak, remember when he couldn’t hold his own head up for Christ’s sake? No…. mummy’s very hungover this morning darling so you can’t have your tambourine.
Now he’s a little Herculean chimp – no one told me I’d need such upper body strength, no one told me they screech, no one told me they bite! So you start to pack, and do your hair and make-up, although you can’t really do it well because he’s screeching about the fact that even though he’s allowed in 4 rooms – he is only interested in the 5th one you occupy… Is that chocolate or poop? Chocolate or poop? Darling, will you sniff this for me?
And three hours have passed. And he threw the banana sandwich for breakfast at you and he’s learnt how to take his nappy off and he’s screaming at Jeremy Kyle. And you leave. And you’re on the bus. And he hates it. And you can’t stop thinking you’ve left something behind. Is that old milk or new milk? Old or new? Excuse me? Will you sniff this for me?
And then you’re in the train station but the train isn’t for 39 fucking minutes. And you spend 99% of your energy trying to keep him silent and entertained. But eventually, you get there.
And you go to lunch with your friend and he screams and gurns and strains and you say “I’m so sorry, he’s never like this!”
So you take him to a lawn 5 miles squared. But he doesn’t like the grass, he only likes the concrete steps. But you don’t want him to dance on them so he screams and becomes an even bigger arsehole than you knew he could be. No, put that down, we do not read Private Eye!
But it’s ok because you’re going home now. And he is squalling “Gwarrrk” at the entire silent train carriage, repeatedly. And shrieking because he’s fed up and nothing will placate him. And you remember that time you were single and alone and pre-toddler in Ibiza, lying on a beach in silence, drinking cocktails, listening to Boyzone.
And he ate your ticket earlier in the restaurant so you tell the conductor you don’t have a ticket and you sob and point at toddler.
You just point.
The conductor lets you off… so you sob some more.
I think it was a great Philosopher who once said … Is that pee or juice? PEE OR JUICE? toddlers are arseholes.
On the bright side – I definitely put a fair few people off having children today! So I have done my bit for ‘Contraception Britain’.
Jeremy Kyle – you’re welcome!
Come and find me at my new blog http://www.mummyswritingdarling.co.uk
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Twitter : @sivitersteph