Mum vs Toddler

Since parenthood I’ve picked up the annoying habit of speaking about myself in the third person: “Mummy would like you to stop biting her… Mummy would like to do poos on her own please… Mummy’s had a very long day and needs a big bottle of wine…” I am comforted by referring to myself as Mummy; perhaps it gives my desperate pleas some extra weight. “Please don’t kick Mummy in the face” does sound more authoritative then simply begging “Don’t hurt meeeeeee”.

It’s true that when you have a toddler you get beaten up. I don’t know if it’s the same for boys and girls, but little boys are bundles of wild, thrashing strength.  I fight back with love and patience when I can, but much like anyone who’s travelled the road of passive resistance before me; it takes a bloody long time to get anywhere. I am just waiting for the gleaming ‘pre-school’ age I’ve been reading about, apparently it’s when toddlers finally mature and love nothing more than to smother you with kisses, and to behave sweetly and compliantly in their desperation for your approval.

Another toddler battle we’re facing at the moment is whinging; I swear it could be used at Guantanamo as an effective form of torture. Those prisoners would confess to anything if they had to endure small children half crying for extended periods across a 12 hour day. Today’s strategy is to ignore the whine, apparently he will give it up when he realises it will get him nowhere. If it doesn’t work, I might opt to have my eardrums removed.

I’m also aware my toddler tyrant might be in need of some more freedom. I know he wants out of pram prison so we are starting short walks without it and so far it’s going pretty good. There’s been no high speed escapes onto the road yet, and even if he does try to go into every single gate that’s open,  it is pretty cute seeing how much he enjoys giving me a tour of the neighbourhood.  

This week it came to me that if Henry becomes a rapper; his name could be Biggie Poos. In the documentary mapping his meteoric rise to fame, we can talk about how he earned his name back in the toddler years when his bedraggled mother might have to tackle 4 – 5 chocolate explosions a day. A legend they’ll say, thank god for Mothers.

I’ve had a bit of a creative outburst recently, and have finished the first collage I’ve put together in a while. I hope you like it. Stay warm.

Mel