It’s party central here! We’ve been lining up the shot glasses since before the break of dawn…to get the dregs from the medicine bottles the syringe can’t reach. And yes, that is a syringe floating in one of the bottles. I accidentally dropped it in mid-draw-up and can’t get it out, so I’ve decided to run it as an art installation.
Sure, I grew her, she emerged from my body, I’ve been puked, pooped and peed on by her…but THIS is the grossest part of parenting. The bit where they try to blow up their own balloon for a solid 20 minutes, then admit defeat and say “you blow it up for me, Mama”. *shudder* Even the cat can’t watch.
Tilly spent 20 minutes trying to coax Frankie into eating some banana. Defeated (cats just aren’t into bananas) she tearfully shouted “But I made aeroplane noises and everyfing!”, then got in a shit with everyone in the house. WELCOME TO MY WORLD, TILLY.
There’s a special little dance I reserve for evenings when I realise The Blacklist is on and there’s cold wine in the fridge (accompanied by a tiny squeal if there’s also chocolate). This morning I busted out that dance by the grey light of dawn when the TV line up revealed cartoons that BOTH girls like, all they requested for a snack was a banana, and no one squawked “stay with me Mama!” when I tabled the proposal that I go back to bed for a while.
Because I only needed a few things and had been weakened by plaintive cries of “don’t put me in a trolley! I won’t touch any-fing!”, Tilly strutted through the supermarket this morning. Wooed by what I calculated would be at least an 80% reduction in whinging, I failed to consider: The 75% increase in time taken from entry to checkout, The 82% surge in my yelling (most of which was solely devoted to shouting “put that down!” in the egg and wine sections), A solid 36% more shin bruising thanks to her basket being swung about with gay abandon, An 8% price hike due to a little chocolate egg being snuck in when I wasn’t looking (to be fair, that probably happened while I was ferreting Creme Eggs deep under the bread bag hoping she wouldn’t notice), And a 147% spike in adrenaline when she momentarily disappeared as I was swiping the credit card. Numbers are not my strong point.
I’ve run completely out of wine due to poor planning. Everyone is Very Concerned.
You know it has been A Challenging Week when you excitedly chalk up going for a pap smear as “child free time”
Tilly joins the “Wearing Active Wear To School Drop Off” movement.
(Published in the December ’15/January ’16 edition of Little Treasures Magazine. This is an extended version of the published article) When I was pregnant, a colleague told me in sage tones that having a baby was the most competitive activity she’d ever gotten herself into. The alarming tales she told of coffee group bake-offs and veiled queries about whose baby was first to smile/roll over/talk/play the violin certainly took my mind off my swollen ankles. Fortunately, the two local mother groups I fell into (via antenatal classes and a Plunket PEPE course) were more of the “grab a packet of biscuits on the way and let’s have a laugh about how many times this week we’ve opened the front door to visitors with our maternity bras undone” variety. Nevertheless, via an increased consumption of social media, my eyes were opened to the battleground that is motherhood. Natural birth vs. c-section. Breast feeding vs. formula. Co-sleeping vs. own bed. Vaccinators vs. anti vaxers. Cry it out vs. rock to sleep. The “vs.” list was seemingly endless, and …
Dinner prep. Or, as I think of it: deciding what I most feel like cleaning off the floor later.
McPikelets 