I am ‘Some things the Baby Books forgot to mention’ Mum
Feel free to sing along!
“Nappies and dodees” should be read/sung to the tune of “Raindrops and Roses” from The Sound of Music.
“Nappies and Dodees and cute little sockies
Big teddies, small teddies, horseys that rockie,
Elephant mobiles that fly on their strings
These are just some of the new baby’s things.
Baskets from Moses and funky shaped pillows
Grufallos, Minnie Mouse, Wind in the Willows,
Breast pumps and bobos and wee plastic pots,
Plastic spoons needed for feeding your tots.
Where’s the dummy?
Close the stairgate.
Get the nappy baaaag.
I simply can’t deal with this amount of stuff
I miss the space that I had.
Cushions and door clips and safety latches
Lift all those candles and hide all the matches
Puke cloths and poop bags and powders and creams,
Lego and Stains on all of your things.
Carseats and carriers, high chairs and bouncers
Moniters, teethers and measures for ounces
Video moniters keep mammy calm
And Daddy’s still learning how to fold up the pram.
Toys toys toys toys
Toys toys toys toys
Did I mention toys?
I simply am listing the simplest of things
We gather for girls…and boys.”
The BS Bibles spout such shite as “Don’t worry! Babies don’t need to take up ALL the space in your home. Dedicate a shelf or drawer in your living room to baby essentials to keep them close at hand. The Baby’s clothes etc should be kept in Baby’s nursery (includes image of pale grey amd white, empty, tidy nursery…) The moses basket should be in a well appointed space, not too close to any radiators or drafty doors/windows. A well organised changing station will help keep the home mess free.”
Where does it prepare us for the explosion of STUFF that ensures that EVERY nook and cranny of your once tidyish home gets covered in Baby? It’s like a giant Baby lifts the roof off your house and projectile VOMITS a load of utter CRAP all over EVERYTHING.
No room escapes and while for the first few weeks you might be able to contain the Baby stuff to a few baskets or to one corner, once they begin to play with toys or move about, the house slowly becomes overwhelmed by toys that seem to reproduce and multiply while we sleep.And just like the list the BS Bibles give you, this is by no means exhaustive.
You will find more crap to add to it and you will wonder why you didn’t take millions of photographs of your lovely fengshuiyed, Cath Kitsonesque, picture perfect home BC to send to ‘House and Home’.
And as for new furniture or carpets?
Don’t bother your arse until they’re old enough to know NOT to write on the cushions with glitter glue.
Absolute wrecking balls. 😂😂😂
There are days when things happen to test us.
Yesterday, it was not just Mammy who was tested by events. No. Mammy AND Daddy and our marriage in general were tested. By what? By who?
By our Princess Poonami.
“She’s a great age now. We can go anywhere and it’s so much easier than when she was tiny” scoffed Mammy to her cousin-with-older-kids at approximately 5.10pm. We were standing watching our minions playing in the garden at Granny-Mary-Queen-Mother-of-the-whole-wide-world’s birthday party.
“All I need now is to throw a nappy in my handbag and go! No need to be lugging half the house around anymore!” Mammy was so sure of herself. Cousin with older kids agreed. How smug and fablis Mammy is about how clutter free Mammying is when out and about now that my wobbler is 2. Smug mammy. Silly Mammy.
“Mammy. We have a poonami!” I hear The Him call.
“Sorry what? We do not have poonamis anymore. Silly Daddy. Don’t you know that our mini is now of the post-poonami age? You have made a mistake. Check that you have lifted the correct child from the garden. You must be mistaken.”
Mammy is past the point of the Poonami. I am no longer THAT Mammy. I no longer have to carry a changing bag. I no longer have to remove brown sticky vests from the back of my child. I have past this stage. I am Poonami free..,
Except that I am not. And when I look up, the child in The Him’s arms is indeed mine. He is pretending that she is an aeroplane, so as not to have to touch the bum region. Of course, this WOULD be the first day she is wearing a dress and is bare legged and so I can already see the rivulet which SHOULD have been held inside leggins, trickling down the crevaces of her fat little legs. And the unmistakeable smell wafting from her arse can only be one thing. Yup. Poonami.
And all that I have in my handbag is a single nappy.
Who’s smug now?
My sister calls out “My baby bag is in the hall. GO GO GO!!” and GO GO GO we GO.
There are approximately 120 people in Granny-Mary-Queen-Mother-of-the-whole-wide-world’s house, through which we have to manouvre the leaking posterier of the aeroplane baby. She is “WEEEE”ing with glee as Daddy flies her through the crowd.
Scuse us. Poonami alert, poonami alert. We rush to the spare room and throw a towel onto the bed. Princes Poonami is having a great oul laugh as we rummage through the sister’s baby bag for nappies and wipes.
I’m about to start changing her and I look at the Him. He looks at me. And we know that we are both thinking the same thing… HOW the fuck do we do this?
You know how they say that a parent forgets all the bad stuff…the labour pains, the pain pain, the recovery, the exhaustion…well it seems that we also block out the cleaning up of the bum explosions too. Because for a few seconds, neither of us had a clue where to start!
Right. We can do this. And for the next 10 minutes. (Yes, it took 10 minutes, such was the extent and reach of the exposion.) we were a tag team. Back in the throes of early parenthood. Working together. A team with one purpose. Our marriage being strengthened, tested and verified by a shitty nappy.
“Nappies…nappies.” “Wipe…wipe.” “Hold that.” “Wait wait wait!” “Watch her hair.” “Mind the bed” “You missed that bit on her neck” “Fuck fuck fuck!” “Is that it?” “WTF? HOW did it get in THERE?” “Where will I put this?” “Go get a plastic bag. NO a Bin bag!” “Christ the smell…” “Get your HANDS out of THERE!”
The bumbag went into the binbag. The clothes and towel went into another one. The Wobbler was dressed in a spare outfit that my sister-who-will-always-be-prepared-for-all-eventualities-and-is-not-a-smug-relaxed-twat-like-Mammy-here had packed for her girl. And at the end, Mammy and Daddy hi-fived. Yes. We did. That’s how proud of ourselves we were.
“Still got it Daddy” says Mammy.
“Hell yeah!” says Daddy.
“I dood a pooooooo” said Princess.
No Shit Sherlock!
Lesson learned. Mammy needs to go back to keeping a changing bag in the boot of the car. Be prepared for all seasons…and remember that when she is on an antibiotic, there is a high chance of poonami, whatever age she is.
And together, there is no shitstorm that Mammy and Daddy can’t handle together.
Do your little minions keep you on your toes?
Mine do. So much so that I might as well dance around in ballet pumps, never mind walking.
While they try to keep me on my toes, half the time I’m actually walking around bare-footed…on lego. I think I’ve sussed them. I think I know them and their tricks. And then they remind me that actually, I have not a clue what I am doing and that I am most certainly NOT in charge in our little home.
Here are the top 5 ways that Mini-Me and Princess are keeping me “dancing” at the minute. But sure hey, who wants boring well-behaved kids eh?
- Silence is… dangerous. Especially if there is more than one minion in your charge. Do not be fooled into thinking that they are playing quietly. If they are quiet, they’re hoping you won’t catch or see them doing what they know they are not supposed to be doing.
2. Hiding is the best fun ever! Especially when they hide behind their fat wee hands, right in front of you and genuinely believe that you can’t see them. However, as they get bigger, hiding becomes a skill. And it becomes quite the pain in the posterier…especially if they decide to play “hiding” just as you are trying to leave the house. Princess is unbelievable at it. She runs down the hall shouting “I Hideeeeeeen”. Her favourites are in the bottom of a wardrobe, happily still in the dark, or standing like a statue behind a curtain. Nightmare. The only way I can find her in a hurry is to make her giggle. (Mammy on the other hand can not hide. ANYWHERE. Don’t waste your time trying. They will find you.)
3. Clean nappies are best for pooing in. Especially when you’re just about to leave the house. Again, if a clean nappy is combined with silence and hiding, you’re getting a hat-trick Mammy.
4. If Mammy cooks it, they will not eat it. If Granny, Aunty, Uncle, Childminder, Binman cooks it, they shall eat it. Also, if, like me you have a child who doesn’t eat a particular food (still no go on the chucken), be warned that they WILL eat it EVERYWHERE ELSE. Just to keep you look deranged and mad when you tell people they don’t like a certain food.
5. Crying is reserved for Mammy. A child can bump her knee at 10am and be brave. When you arrive at 5pm, they will cry about it. A child can be as good as gold all day. Once you enter another house or indeed, once someone else walks into your house, they will begin to act like demonic dictators just to remind you that they are indeed the Boss of the whole wide world. And to maintain your outside-the-house-persona as the Mammy-who-is-always-scolding.
Otherwise, all is perfect and all is right with the world. I hope you all got lots of eggs and that the little faces are covered in chocolate. Bring on the sugar rush and crashes this evening eh? And don’t forget to put some egg in the fridge to have when they go to bed tonight! Goes well with grapes they tell me. 🙂
What is your little one’s trick of the month?
Princess is a tyrant.
Her tantrums and strops are making anything that Mini-Me ever threw, seem perfectly angelic. Madam P is terrifying. Think 11 from Stranger Things when she stares at someone she dislikes? Yup. Princess.
Her latest acts of retaliation and protest include slapping, biting, growling (nope, not joking), and getting undressed.
She pulls off her clothes for no apparent reason other than to annoy the grown up in her charge. And over the past few nights, this has escalated to full removal of the poocatcher too.
Wednesday night, Daddy and I checked her before we went to bed. “What’s on the pillow beside her head?” whispers Daddy.
“I don’t know” I answered, mentally checking my memory for what was there when I put her down; Moana, George Pig and Jessie… And yet here was a white teddy of some sort.
I picked it up.
It was in fact a soggy nappy. A quick feel confirmed that yes indeed, Princess had removed the nappy. However, she had managed to put her Jammie bottoms back on.
A quick dry nappy on her stubborn wee bum and off we went to bed, laughing at the wee fart.
Thursday night. Same thing. However, the nappy was not on the pillow this time. No, she had fecked this nappy out of the cot, along with her pillow, quilt, teddies and dodees. In fact all that was in the cot was her bare bum and the vest she hadn’t gotten off.
Yesterday morning. I got her dressed and ran to my room to pull on my own clothes. I returned approximately 3 minutes later, only to find Bare-arsed Betsy running around the kitchen cackling at me.
So there you go. It seems we have a little naturalist on our hands. Either that, or she’s ready for potty training a WHOLE lot earlier than Mammy is ready for it.
I hope it’s a phase she’ll grow out of quickly. If not, let me apologise in advance for any fat little peaches you may see running behind me in Dunnes or Aldi-everything.