Tag Archives: toddler

I am She’s Tossing Nappies Mum

Posted in children, Uncategorized by

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.

peaches

 

I am She’s in Charge Mum

Posted in blog, children, family, parenting, toddlers, Uncategorized by

It looks like he’s leading her through the woods doesn’t it? 👇👇

Well. What’s REALLY happening here is that this little Wobbler is leading HIM right up the garden path. Princess has morphed into a Demon.

On Sunday she threw her first FULL BLOWN tantrum. We were out for dinner. She lost the bap. We sat looking at each other like two teenagers, neither of whom had a CLUE what to do or how to react. She was screaming and kicking. I held on tight while Daddy pulled Peppa Feckin Pork up on the phone. #needsmust 😢 She stopped screaming once the music started. I swear to God, she was like a deflating balloon and then peace was restored and the other diners stopped glaring at us…

Granda didn’t believe a word of it. Nooooooo. HIS little Princess wouldn’t do that. Not his wee angel…Nope. Granda got his eyes open today however 😂when we went out for tea to celebrate my little sis’s little brown envelope. Once again, DemonDoll threw a strop in the restaurant. Granda declared her a feral tyrant and declared HIMSELF officially retired from all tantrum duties, now that his own youngest is all grown up. I do believe that after 36 years of parenting MAYHEM, it has taken a Curley haired cherub to finally break him. 😂😂

“There was a little girl, who had a little curl”… and when she was bad, she was TERRIFYING! ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING. 😈😈😈

So as innocent as she might look here👇, dandering up a laneway with her Daddy, from behind, you can’t see the glint in her eye that tells him “I own you Daddy. I own you.”

(In fairness, he’s well used to it. Note what he’s carrying in the other hand… because the OTHER Dollyanna insisted on bringing her scooter and lasted approximately 3 minutes. #rascals #daddy)

Still. I wouldn’t change them for the world. How was your day? I do hope all of the brown envelope Mums are having a large grape tonight and that the Minions have fun and safe celebrations 😚😚😚

I am “Silly Daddy” Mum

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Mammy is usually very good at giving The Him the credit of being a very wonderful Daddy Bear. Usually…

But sometimes, he comes out with something, or DOES something, SO FECKIN DOUCHEBAG, that my brain starts singing Mary Magdalene’s “He’s a Maaaaaan, he’s JUST a man” at full volume and I can’t help but raise an eyebrow at him and put on my “Are you fecking KIDDING me?” face.

Today, The Him returned from Jim and decided to make himself an omelette.

 

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Now. given that the minions had JUST eaten their lunches, one might be forgiven for thinking that they would not require more sustenance for a few hours.

But knowing them, especially the Princess, like we do, one would also assume that The Him would have automatically made extra for The Bin that is our youngest daughter.

Nope.

He makes himself a lovely omelette and sets it down on the table. As he turns to get his coffee, The Fudgemonster has already climbed up on his seat and reached for his fork… or as she saw it in HER world… HER fork.

“Hi Wee Woman!” exclaims The Him, interrupting her cutting of the omelette with her finger. “That’s Daddy’s.”

It’s like a slow motion NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO scene from a movie where he has the words out before I can warn him…

She stops.
She stares at the omelette.
She looks up at Him.
She looks over at me. (I’m holding my breath at this point.)
She looks back at the omelette and then slowly puts down the fork…
(I swear to God, a MAFIA boss would have been less sinister in his calmness. I almost expected “Get rid of him Donny” to be the next words out of her mouth and for Bugsy style shooters to jump out from behind the sofa, dressed in 1940’s gear and DESTROY him!)

The Him by this point is realising that he MIGHT have made a mistake…

He looks at her.
He looks at me.
He looks terrified…

And just as the poor cretur is about to appease the situation by handing over ALL the food, Princess takes a breath, quivers her lip, climbs down from the chair and runs towards me, her little cheeks and thighs wobbling in the wind, and launches into THE SADDEST, most Genuine and heartbroken WAIL I have EVER heard.

Poor Princess.
Poor Daddy. He doesn’t quite know what to do.

“Cut off a piece for her and put it on her plate” I whisper. The Him briskly does what he’s told. He puts the plate on the table and says “Princess want some omelette?”

“YEAH!” she shouts, mid sob, before jumping off my knee and making it onto her seat in less than 4 seconds, where she happily munched on the omelette piece, firing dirty looks at her Daddy between bites.

You see, what Daddy didn’t realise, (or forgot, feck knows), is that there are rules about eating in the same room as a wobbler, especially OUR wobbler:

If I see it, it’s mines.
If you make it, it’s mines.
If I smell it, it’s mines.
If it’s edible, it’s mines.
If you cook it, it’s mines.
If you put food on a plate, it’s mines.
If I think it’s yours, it makes it more tasty and more mines.
etc., etc., etc…

How Daddy didn’t know these rules, I’ll never know.
But he knows them now and somehow, I can’t see him making the same mistake twice.

When you break an egg, there’s no going back, is there?!

How was your Bank Holiday Ladybelle?

I am “Sneak Peak to a Princess’s Brain” Mum

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“Peppa Pig is starting.  I do like Peppa Pig.  Oooooh. What is Mammy doing? I is a clever witto Princess. Look at Mammy.  Mammy is hoovering.  She is trying to make the room nice and tidy and she has lifted all of my toys.  Wait a minute.  Why has she lifted my toys? That is NOT vewy nice of Mammy is it?  How can I let her know I am not a happy Wobbler?  I could scweam and scweam and throw the toys out of the basket, but NO.  I am NOT a cliche.   I is a Pwincess.  I don’t do fings by half.  I am like my Mammy.  I do it ALL.  She will be so proud of me.  Now, let me see.  Oooooh!  Lookit!  Mammy is hoovering over there and she has left the door open over here.  I like to run.  Running is my Fayvwit.  I shall run down the my bedwoom and wrestle Winnie da pooh.  Daddy calls him Winnie da Shit, but my big sister got scolded when she sayd that so Pwincess is NOT going to say dat.  Pwincess is clever.  I like to run.  OOoooooh LOOKIT!  Oh.  My.  DOG!  Mammy left the bafroom door open just for me.  I must swing in to the bafwoom and see what I can do!  What has Mammy left for me to play wif?  Oh look!  There is the white roll of baby wipes that they always put down the toilet.  I shall put it down the toilet.  I shall put ALL of it down the toilet.  I is soooooo clever.  Mammy will be so proud.  Where is Mammy?  Mammy is still hoovering.  I have put all of the white stuff into the toilet.  I will close the lid now and I will go see my Mammy.  Mammy is now hoovering the kitchen.  I come in and she says “Hello Darling. Are you OK?” and I nod and say my favourite word “Mmmmhmmmmm!”  I will play wif my blo…ooooooh da BUM Cweam!  SHE HAS WEFT THE BUM CWEAM ON THE TABLE! Mammy likes to put the bum bweam on her face.  She never puts the bum cweam on MY face.  I shall be just like Mammy.  I shall put the Bum Cweam on my face and Mammy will be so pwoud.  I am putting the bum cweam on my face.  Mammy turns around and I KNOW she is happy because she is smiling.  Oh.  Now she is running.  She must need the bum cweam.  I hold it out to her and she takes it quickly.  Snapping is not nice Mammy.  Silly Mammy.  Mammy is wiping the cweam off my face and she is cross.  That is OK.  It’s just a phase she is going through.  She goes to put the hoover in the cupboard.  I am climbing on to the chair.  Mammy is calling my sister to come up for lunch.  I am climbing onto the table.  The big table.  I am very fast.  I am a big girl.  

Mammy comes in and Mammy seems excited.  She is screaming and saying some new words.  I likes these words.  She lifts me up and I am so high and I LOVE it so I giggle and put the bum cweam that is hiding on my hand all over Mammy’s face.  She asks my Sister to go get her some toilet roll.  She will be sooooo happy when she sees that I have already put it all into the toilet and so now she has less work to do.   I like to run…

  Peppa Pig is over already.  What can I do now?  I like to run.  Time for a Poo.  I am a clever witto Pwincess.  Aren’t I a clever Pwincess?  Isn’t my Mammy a lucky Mammy?  I wonder where she left my Bum Cweam…”

I am “Stop it with ‘the joys’ please” Mum

Posted in toddlers, Uncategorized by

“Oh the joys,”  they say.
“That’s the joys,” they say…
“The joys”… just the joys. Nothing else needed except raised eyebrows and knowing nods.
The joys.
Let me tell YOU about “the joys”.
There is nothing JOYFUL about “the joys”. 

There is nothing JOYEOUS about “the joys”.
THE JOYS are an absolute pain in the feckin posterier and should actually be renamed “The Shites.”
Today, while Mini-Me frolocked like a lamb in the sunshiny garden, myself and the feral one remained on the sofa. 👇👇👇

She screamed. She cried. She writhed in pain. She clawed my face if I moved. She lost her fricken mind if I breathed wrong. 😭😭😭

Why?
Because she’s teething, cutting a nasty big tooth.
The joys…
Baby has colick… “That’s the joys”

Baby won’t sleep… “The joys”

Toddler throws tantrum… “Them’s the joys”.

Wobbler knocks Sister off her seat”… “the joys”.
All the shite parts of being a parent get labeled as “the joys”.  As usual, parents for generations have been unable to call them what they are.  God forbid you might actually admit that some parts of mammyhood are SHITE.
Christ alive.  Call Childline!  Mammy is not full of the joys and smiling manically and counting her blessings and smug on her Mammy perch, instagrannying the crap out of all her fecking “joys” #soblessed #takethosechildrenawayquick 
No. 

 Instead, when we see another parent type dealing with something horrid, like a screaming baby or a teething toddler, we indirectly remind them that they should be happy and smiling and grateful for “the joys.” 
And yes, OF COURSE these things are part of being a Mammy, but sometimes, we need to stop the facade and call a spade a spade. 
Some days, (especially those where your 18 month old is in so much pain that you seriously consider raiding Granda’s cow meds because you’d honestly pull out  your own teeth to make her feel better)…THOSE days are not Joys.
Those days are Shite.
Pure, absolute and unadulterated SHITE.
“The JOYS” come only after the Calpol has kicked in and the screaming has stopped and you know she’s not in pain for the next wee while anyway.

THEM’S the ACTUAL joys.

Quiet is Joyful.

Sleep is Joyeous.
How was your day? 

Did you enjoy the sunshine?
Don’t think me a wench if I say that I DO hope you all got your arses burnt… I’m not. But if you were out frolicking in it, Them’s the joys. Suck it up. 😉😂😉😂😉😂😉
#thejoys #fml #badtoofs

Have you caught my Facebook page yet? There’s great banter most evenings on it. @the.s.mum 

I’m on Instagranny too. @the.s.mum