I haven’t got a pretty picture of the Italian Lakes for you this week. Nor a cute one of a little boy and his screwdriver.
Only one picture would sum up this week’s ordinary moment as a family with a one-year-old: a pile of snot-sodden tissues. And I just didn’t feel like getting my camera out for those.
Only one picture would sum up this week’s ordinary moment as a family with a one-year-old: a pile of snot-sodden tissues. And I just didn’t feel like getting my camera out for those.
We’ve had rivers of snot, first from Big M and little M, then little M took a break, changed his mind, and joined back in with twice the drip rate. And then, as of last night, the tap’s on for me too.
We’ve had teeth. It started about two weeks ago, and at the last count I saw five of the little buggers coming through. I’m considering reporting the tooth fairy to social services for child abuse. And parent abuse, come to think of it.
And then we’ve had rock ‘n roll. Rocking as in trying desperately to rock the Bean to sleep, about once every two hours for the last god-knows-how-may nights. Rolling as in endless cot gymnastics from the Bean, and then in mummy and daddy’s bed when the cot’s lost its appeal.
Oh these are ordinary moments all right, ones that everyone with a kid must go through. I don’t want to complain. In some bizarre way these are moments to treasure too. Moments when I’m reminded that, at least to one little snot-bucket, cuddles with Mr P&P and I are the only thing that will give comfort. We're lucky to be able to give that comfort.
These aren’t pretty moments. They’re not cute, they’re not endearing. But, for better or for worse, they’re currently our ordinary and I wouldn't want to pretend otherwise.
We’ve had teeth. It started about two weeks ago, and at the last count I saw five of the little buggers coming through. I’m considering reporting the tooth fairy to social services for child abuse. And parent abuse, come to think of it.
And then we’ve had rock ‘n roll. Rocking as in trying desperately to rock the Bean to sleep, about once every two hours for the last god-knows-how-may nights. Rolling as in endless cot gymnastics from the Bean, and then in mummy and daddy’s bed when the cot’s lost its appeal.
Oh these are ordinary moments all right, ones that everyone with a kid must go through. I don’t want to complain. In some bizarre way these are moments to treasure too. Moments when I’m reminded that, at least to one little snot-bucket, cuddles with Mr P&P and I are the only thing that will give comfort. We're lucky to be able to give that comfort.
These aren’t pretty moments. They’re not cute, they’re not endearing. But, for better or for worse, they’re currently our ordinary and I wouldn't want to pretend otherwise.
