1. The bucket of doom
The one that houses the victims of our toilet training misses. You’d think that we wouldn’t be fazed by this, what with being used to cloth nappies and all. But it’s different. With cloth nappies you just deal with the nappies. The bucket of doom, on the other hand, has no mercy. It eats pee-sodden pants, trousers, socks, slippers, sometimes even t-shirts if Willy went Wayward and if you’re really unlucky, your favourite sofa cushion.
2. Not remembering who my husband is
I mean he’s there, but not really. Or perhaps I’m not here. I couldn’t tell you whether he’s found time to shave - I was too busy wrestling the toddler into his trousers. I couldn’t tell you whether he’s managed to shovel in some breakfast - I was too busy scraping the toddler’s blueberries off the floor. I couldn’t tell you how he said his day has gone - I was too busy dealing with the toddler shouting over the top. I couldn’t tell what he thought about this TV programme or that - I was too busy falling asleep at 8:30 PM.
Still, I think the feeling is mutual, since he said two days ago “see you at Christmas”...
3. Model behaviour… 10 minutes before bedtime
He may have been demanding I choo-choo his train for him (not with him) but I need barely whisper the word “bed” to my toddler and he will become the picture of angelic cuteness. He will not only choochoo his train but make a bridge for it. He will not only read a book but recite it to me, actions and all. He will be wonderful company and let me crochet on the sofa. For a whole 10 minutes every day, just before bedtime.
The one that houses the victims of our toilet training misses. You’d think that we wouldn’t be fazed by this, what with being used to cloth nappies and all. But it’s different. With cloth nappies you just deal with the nappies. The bucket of doom, on the other hand, has no mercy. It eats pee-sodden pants, trousers, socks, slippers, sometimes even t-shirts if Willy went Wayward and if you’re really unlucky, your favourite sofa cushion.
2. Not remembering who my husband is
I mean he’s there, but not really. Or perhaps I’m not here. I couldn’t tell you whether he’s found time to shave - I was too busy wrestling the toddler into his trousers. I couldn’t tell you whether he’s managed to shovel in some breakfast - I was too busy scraping the toddler’s blueberries off the floor. I couldn’t tell you how he said his day has gone - I was too busy dealing with the toddler shouting over the top. I couldn’t tell what he thought about this TV programme or that - I was too busy falling asleep at 8:30 PM.
Still, I think the feeling is mutual, since he said two days ago “see you at Christmas”...
3. Model behaviour… 10 minutes before bedtime
He may have been demanding I choo-choo his train for him (not with him) but I need barely whisper the word “bed” to my toddler and he will become the picture of angelic cuteness. He will not only choochoo his train but make a bridge for it. He will not only read a book but recite it to me, actions and all. He will be wonderful company and let me crochet on the sofa. For a whole 10 minutes every day, just before bedtime.
Did somebody say "bed"?
4. How nothing that is mine is actually mine
My handbag has become a receptacle for toy cars, soggy tissues and rampant raisins.
My brain thumps not to Daft Punk (you can see where I got stranded, can’t you) but roars to RaaRaa and wiggles to Iggle Piggle.
“Me-time” (bwahaha) is a race against toddler nap-time: check emails scoff biscuits take pictures make work phone calls do laundry write blog post crochet 5 rows maybe say hello to husband (but probably not, see point 2) faff about on twitter and none of it is enjoyed as it should be due to the constant terror that he might wake up.
5. The “astute” observations of others
“Someone isn’t very happy” - are you talking about the screaming toddler, or the mother skidding across the supermarket floor with a screaming toddler in her arms and the shopping bags hanging off her ears?
“He doesn’t look very tired” - he’s cream-crackered, and as you will not be the one dealing with the fallout of a missed nap, he’s going to bed NOW.
“He’s really enjoying that cake” - oh, you mean the fifth slice of that chocolate-filled, dinner-obliterating cake you’ve just given him? I bloody well bet he is.
6. My immune system having gone AWOL
You’d think that, as a former preschool teacher who once had 25 children wipe their snot on my sleeve on a daily basis, I’d have an immune system. Any immune system. But it seems not. *blows nose for the fifth time in as many minutes*
My handbag has become a receptacle for toy cars, soggy tissues and rampant raisins.
My brain thumps not to Daft Punk (you can see where I got stranded, can’t you) but roars to RaaRaa and wiggles to Iggle Piggle.
“Me-time” (bwahaha) is a race against toddler nap-time: check emails scoff biscuits take pictures make work phone calls do laundry write blog post crochet 5 rows maybe say hello to husband (but probably not, see point 2) faff about on twitter and none of it is enjoyed as it should be due to the constant terror that he might wake up.
5. The “astute” observations of others
“Someone isn’t very happy” - are you talking about the screaming toddler, or the mother skidding across the supermarket floor with a screaming toddler in her arms and the shopping bags hanging off her ears?
“He doesn’t look very tired” - he’s cream-crackered, and as you will not be the one dealing with the fallout of a missed nap, he’s going to bed NOW.
“He’s really enjoying that cake” - oh, you mean the fifth slice of that chocolate-filled, dinner-obliterating cake you’ve just given him? I bloody well bet he is.
6. My immune system having gone AWOL
You’d think that, as a former preschool teacher who once had 25 children wipe their snot on my sleeve on a daily basis, I’d have an immune system. Any immune system. But it seems not. *blows nose for the fifth time in as many minutes*
It goes without saying that I love my toddler dearly and being a parent to him is amazing and fulfilling and blah-de-blah-de-blah (so please don't troll me).
