Amy: “Sometimes I tell the troof, and sometimes I’m not telling the troof. And sometimes I SAY it’s the troof, but it’s not really the troof. And sometimes it is really the troof.” Me: “So did you wash your hands, or not?” Amy: “Yes.” Me: “Are you telling the truth?” Amy: “No.” My head hurts.
When trying to sneak back to bed at 4am after re-settling both baby and toddler, the once soothing and inviting rustle of the duvet suddenly sounds as obnoxious and loud as someone struggling to open a stubborn packet of chips in a movie theatre during a crucial-yet-quiet scene.
Dropped and lost a bit of chocolate while feeding the baby. Found aforementioned chocolate when burping the baby. Is it bad form to lick your baby’s face?
Amy thought it would be nice to lay out Jeremy’s running gear. She helpfully added a Pull-Up…is there an LBL issue I’m not aware of?
Mid-victory lap around the couch, I wondered if perhaps I might be slightly over-stating the degree of difficulty involved in assembling a Kinder Surprise toy. Until Amy joined in, shouting “hooray Mummy! You actually did it! That is SO surprising!”
You know your toddler has had too much screen time over the weekend when you hear a bird outside chirping the theme music from Peppa Pig.
“Wow, I see you did some painting at kindy today!” “Yes Mummy. The teachers asked if I wanted to wear an apron, but I said ‘no thank you. It’s ok, Mummy can just wash my clothes. She really loves doing the washing.’” I need to demonstrate to my daughter that I have hobbies above and beyond laundry.
Supportive parenting advice from the toddler as I tried (and failed) to “shhhhh” and pat the baby to sleep in her own bed this afternoon: “Oh mummy, just give up and give her a boob until she falls asleep, or put her in the front-pack!” It’s a sad day when even your two year old sees fit to point out your parental failings.
Sick toddler insisted that the only thing that could possibly make her feel better would be for us to bake chocolate chip cookies. Obstacle 1: No brown sugar. “Never mind!” I trilled, “we’ll substitute honey!” Obstacle 2: The (brand new) flour had little bugs in it. “It’s fiiiiiine!” I enthused, “we’ll mix corn flour and oat bran together, that’ll do the trick!” Eighteen little mounds of cookie mixture were painstakingly laid out on the baking tray by toddler hands. I put the tray in the oven, feeling very smug about my baking improvisation, and having a little daydream about entering some sort of toddler/mother reality TV cooking show where Amy and I would wear matching aprons and make it through all the elimination rounds. Then this came out of the oven. I’m not sure what’s worse…the crestfallen/horrified look on Amy’s face, or the realisation that my dreams of meeting Manu from My Kitchen Rules will never eventuate. Ever.
McPikelets 