I started this on Tuesday, full of sunshine and light, having read the beautiful post over on the wonderful Knackered Mothers' Wineclub site. Things were good on Tuesday: spring was in the air, the kids were behaving, I’d had cake for breakfast. In fact, I really couldn’t find anything to complain about. It was a short, dull post, and you’ll all be pleased to hear that the sky has since caved in and life is back to its usual chaos and carnage.
On the bright side, the Boy seems to have turned a corner (cue complete jinxing). He’s been relatively sweet and attentive, occasionally even listening to me, catching me off-guard with his musings (“Mummy, why are you always bothering me and annoying me?”) and sporadically offering me his own nuggets of advice (“Mummy, you just need to CALM DOWN. Why can’t you be calm?”).
He has a point. I have spent a large portion of the intervening time since Tuesday screeching – at the Girl, unusally. She is now the exact age the Boy was when she was born, a period which I rather not think about. There was ALOT of screeching then also, which I put down to his behaviour, and my advanced – and shockingly uncomfortable – pregnancy. Given how things are now panning out with her, I suspect that I might in fact just have an intolerance towards 20-month-olds. And looking at the only empirical evidence to hand, I can expect this state of affairs to continue for at least 18 months.
God help us all. Take today for instance. Once in my bed this morning, she spurned the proffered bottle of milk (by picking it up and chucking it across the room) and demanded apple juice instead. By the time I had returned, apple juice in hand, she was sitting stark naked on my bed, and had just pissed on my
lovely expensive down pillow. “Wee wee!” she announced, somewhat unnecessarily, pointing at the sodden mess. Down in the kitchen, she punched the Boy in the face over breakfast, and then spurned his completely full cup of hot chocolate (a new cup, chosen by him last weekend), by picking it up and – yes – chucking it across the room, to a smashing demise. Once on the naughty step, she made to bolt out the front door, which I had, thankfully, had the sense to double lock. On and on and on... The piece de resistance was a total meltdown on the bus this afternoon, twenty long, harrowing, minutes, pausing only to take a deep breath - and vomit down my front.
Once home I chucked them both in the garden, and called a friend to offload. She tried to calm me down. According to a parenting course she went on, the trick when dealing with toddlers is to try to see things from their point of view. In which case, I give you: The Girl in the Garden.
“Bloody shoes. Why must they be so haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaard to take oooooooooffffffffff. There! Ahhhh. I’ll just – plop! – chuck them into that puddle. And if I can just reach under to these buttons... excellent.... Ta-Da! Freedom! Oooh - a poo! Where did THAT come from? My bottom is scratchy.... Aaaahhhhh, much better. Hmmm. My fingers smell funny. And taste... AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHH MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ok, ok, that’s enough hugging, thankyouverymuch, I’m not going to stop wriggling so you might as well put me down. Wipe my hand. Thank you. NOT MY ARSE, it’s too coooooooold, WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH-ooooh – what’s that? Some sand? Ooooh, I like sand. Is sand usually this dark? More sand, over here! Where is my mother? What is she doing with him up there? Why is he LOOOOOOOOOOOOKING AT ME AAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHH-oooh, a stick. And a bucket! With leaves and water! I am just going to... mix... and stir.... wet black sand! It feels nice. My feet LOVE it. Hahahahahahaha! There’s SO MUCH of it, hurray! And if I do... this... then I can rub it in my hair like this! And on my fa... Uuugh. It smells funny. It smells like the top of the garden where we’re not allowed to go. What is “fox”? It’s where fox lives. Uuuuugh, it’s smelly on my haaaaaand... What is that? ? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH a leaf ON MY FOOOOOOOOOOOT HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLP! Anyone?? Fuck it, I’m just going to have to deal with this myself. She is utterly CRAP.
Ooooh, the kitchen floor is cooooooooooooold under my feet. And slippy... Oh hello cuddly rocking horse! I looooooooooooove you. Let’s have a cuddle. What? You want me to climb up on you? But I’m all dir... oh ok then. Just a quick one. Weeeeeeeeehhhh... Ooops. Wee-wee! Hahahahaha, it’s fun and wet and slidey. Uuuugh, smelly hands. That tap looks very high. I need.... this... (grunt) ... chair, and... this.... (grunt) .... toy box. Perfect. Up I go! Oh look! If I put my hand on this white bit it goes all dark! And if I spread it around like this it looks like the ground outside! But it’s NOT the ground, hahahaha, that’s so funny... Up up up I go. Which tap.... THIS one ARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH it’s TOOCOLDIT’SSPLASHINGMYFACE, abort abort abort, JUMP! Ooooh. What’s that up there in that open cupboard? I’ll just take.... this... (grunt) ... toybox, and... this.... (grunt) .... chair. Perfect. Up I go! CHOCOLATE EGGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Fan-fucking-tastic!
She is going to stop me. I must hide. But where? I can hear her. QUICK! Stuff them in my mouth. MARMRARMRARMRARM...QUICK!!!!!!!!!! Hide. Under the table, runrunrunrun-ooooh – what is this? It’s soft and lovely! What is c-a-s-h-m-e-r-e? It’s so warm and cosy... Stuffstuffstuffstuffmunchmunchmunchmucnh.... Shhhhhhhhhhhhh, here she is. Not a sound... GLAAAAAGHHHHH-BLUUUUGH-coughcoughcough-SPIIIIIIT. Wipe. So soft!
Oh. Hello there! Kiss?”