Sucks to be the second
My first born’s first proper sentence: “What a sunny day!” My second born’s first proper sentence: “I HAD IT FIRST!”
All posts tagged: #toddler
Mummy Rage
Hearing the neighbours drag their bins down the driveway at 10pm before we had kids: “Oh! I forgot that it was bin night. Never mind, we’ll put the bins out tomorrow morning after enjoying a full night’s sleep, the breakfast news, and a hot coffee. Actually – our bin probably isn’t even full”. Hearing the neighbours drag their bins down the driveway at 10pm now: “Those inconsiderate fuckcakes! They’re dragging their bins right under the kids’ windows! Why didn’t they take their bins out when they saw me on the road trying to force the lid closed on our overflowing bin well before 7pm? If they wake the children with their bin dragging, I will cut them! I WILL CUT THEM SO DEEP THEY’LL NEVER STOP BLEEDING”
SHARING
Stinky Bunny was the recipient of some lovingly exuberant toast feeding this morning. Now to extend the concept of “sharing” into the murky depths of Not Snatching Toys From Other Toddlers (and to have this jammy bunny washed and dried by bedtime).
In training
This morning she grabbed a bottle of wine in the supermarket and yelled “Cuggle wine! Kisses wine!”. This afternoon she’s standing in a playground wearing a food-stained top and carrying an oversized bag full of crap. She’s gonna make a great mother one day.
Today in micro anti-fashion.
At least someone knows what they’re doing.
I’m not sure what’s more irritating. A) My four year old constantly telling me what to do with Tilly and undermining my every decision because she genuinely seems to think she’s better at parenting a toddler than I am, OR B) The fact that my four year old genuinely does seem to be better at parenting a toddler than I am.
Pretty Brave
#PrettyBrave shoes living up to their name… Put on Tilly’s new moccasins, turned away for a moment and she decides to be an acrobatic equestrian (equestrian acrobat? I’ve never really had to think of that combination of words before)
Queen of the Voms
For most of my life I ran – nay, sprinted – away from other people’s vomit. Now, I hurtle toward all sounds of retching or a small panicked voice calling for me, with arms out and cupped hands proffered. Then I stand victorious, a warm puddle of chunks in my hands, thinking: “I am Saviour Of The Carpet! I am Queen Of Vomit Catching!” It’s entirely possible I need a hobby. Or, like, adult company.
Moomoooo
The baby is losing the plot because she wants to “cuggle” every “moo-moo” we pass. Our four-hour road trip through Waikato farmland should just fly by.
Owwwwww
I used to use the universally accepted pain scale of “1 to stepping on a Lego with bare feet”. I move that the scale be changed to “1 to being poked hard in the eye with a tooth-paste covered toddler toothbrush”.
McPikelets 