Toddler toddler on the floor, who is the most stubborn of them all? Why, it is I, fair Mummy. You thought I’d be the nice one, all chubby, cute and sweet…now I’m losing my shit ‘cos you won’t let me play with the toilet seat.
The baby has refused her nap five days out of seven. I’m not ready for her to be up all day. When will I get housework done? And by “when will I get housework done”, I mean “when will I get to faff around on Facebook?”
Amy: “Is Daddy in the shower yet?” Me: “Ummm, I’m not sure. I think so.” Amy: *sly smile* “Shall we turn the kitchen tap on really hard and find out?”
Toddler Rage. #CarryMe#PickMeUpSoICanWipeSheepPooFromMyGumbootsOntoYourOnlyTrousers
Calling them “Sven’s Carrots” did nothing to entice tiny partygoers to eat the only healthy thing on the table. It’s ok, the vegetable offering was more about me appearing socially responsible to the parents than it was about the kids, anyway.
Me: “Smile!” Amy: “NO! They’re not dancing and singing ‘I like to move it move it’ like they do on Madagascar”.
You know you’re overdue for adult company when you find yourself in the midst of a heated and prolonged debate with your three year old over the correct lyrics to a particular Frozen song.
I’ve had several ACC reports lodged by my Dr over the years (for non-NZ’ers reading along at home, ACC is the Accident Compensation Corporation, and if you injure yourself they partially pay for treatment, any loss of income etc. It’s not a perfect system, but it’s there). Some of my pre-motherhood reports from my Dr seemed outlandishly ridiculous: “Twisted ankle falling off curb in high heels” “Hurt neck falling off wakeboard” “Strained knee while avoiding a bee” (that one was my favorite). Since having the girls: “Strained shoulder from leaning over cot patting baby to sleep” “Bruised nose from being head-butted by baby” And as of yesterday: “Caught thumbnail while pulling up child’s gumboot. Nail bed now infected”. Rock n Roll.
McPikelets 