It’s like grocery shopping with a small, noisy goat. On the upside, “holding” the shopping list keeps her passably quiet. On the downside, she generally chews/rips it and won’t give it back to me to check what’s written on it, so I always forget a bunch of stuff. With child #1, I would have worried that fellow shoppers were judging me for letting my child possibly ingest paper; but she’s the second child, so I enjoy the quiet and count it as her afternoon tea.
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?”
Don’t waste your money on expensive Juvederm injections at posh beauty clinics, simply allow your toddler to smack you in the mouth with the back of their head. You get the Hollywood “bee-stung-lip” look without the hefty price tag, and they get a lesson in four letter words they’re not supposed to say.
Sometimes a moment of silence means the 16 month old is quietly amusing herself by looking at books. Sometimes a moment of silence means there are no longer any flaps remaining in the “lift the flap” books
Offered snack options to the three year old. She declined all options, because: “I’m full…I had some mint from the garden and some fingernails”. Boogers for dinner, then.
The three year old insists on getting about in so many layers of dressing-up clothes that she primly insists I accompany her to the loo and hold all her clothes up at armpit level to stop skirts/dresses/capes/tiaras/necklaces from falling into the bowl. This bathroom duty, along with her fussy dietary restrictions, emotional outbursts, door slamming, claims that I’m not her best friend one minute then that I’m her best friend in the whole WORLD the next, and outrageous demands; teamed with my utterly depleted bank account and soaring feelings of inadequacy makes me feel like I’m Maid of Honour for a really short Bridezilla. Every. Single. Day.
Amy: “MUM! I’ve got hiccups.” Me: *in jolly tones* “Hiccups? Hiccups are funny things, aren’t they?” Amy *patiently yet patronising* “Ahhhh, no, you’re thinking of farts. Farts are funny, Mummy, not hiccups. Farts are funny; hiccups are just annoying.” Sorry. My mistake.
Before I had my two girls, I spent over ten years working for advertising agencies. I wanted to work in the industry after hearing stories about agencies in the hey-day 80’s. Expecting it to be all long lunches, colourful characters, and big-budget ads where I’d get to fly to exotic locations, I was somewhat disappointed by the reality of post-80’s agency life, but I did meet some amazing people, do some interesting work, suffered some rip-snorting hangovers, and made some of the best friends I’ve ever had. I worked in account service, which meant I spent my time trying to please the clients, the creative department, the studio team and the accountants. Generally you can only please one to three parties on that list during any given project. Every now and then the heavens smile and you please everyone. Other times they all want to put a hex on you. Sometimes motherhood is really, really different to working in an ad agency. Other times it’s achingly similar. (FYI if you’re one of my past clients …
“OH NO! Mum! I was ‘shhhhing’ Frankie cos he was meowing, but I had lots of crackers in my mouth, and now…now there’s a situation.”
McPikelets 