Archives: motherhood

Toddler

Right now, I have the answer to EVERYTHING. And it’s just one word. Which is great, because this sleep-deprivation shit plays havoc with your vocab.

Toddler!

- You look tired. Are you not sleeping?

- Toddler.

 

- Why does the house smell like cinnamon?

- Toddler.

 

- Why is the front lawn covered in duplo?

- Toddler.

 

- Why is the cat cowering in the bath?*

- Toddler.

 

- Why are the chairs all on top of the table?

- Toddler.

 

- Why is the loungeroom floor covered in a fine layer of talc?

- Toddler.

 

- Why haven’t you washed/brushed your hair this week?

- Toddler.

 

- Where are my keys?

- Toddler.

 

- Where is my mind?

- Toddler.

 

You may choose to add a little courtesy.

- Would you like to come out for dinner with us tonight?

- Sorry, toddler.

 

It even works as a reply to simple statements.

- That’s a lot of washing you’re doing.

- Toddler.

 

But it’s best reserved for existential angst.

- Why? Why me?

- Toddler.

 

 

*Just kidding. We have neither cat nor bath. (But the neighbours do.)

Life with Pollyanna

It’s been one of those weeks, where you arrive on Friday sweating and shaking and gripping onto the side of the week with ragged fingernails and white knuckles, just hoping to slide into the weekend intact.

The toddler’s teething. Which means if he lets you sleep for more than say two hours in a stretch, you’re laughing. Or at least able to form coherent sentences, or something like that. Up every hour, most nights.

So this morning, after battling peak traffic both-ways across town to drop my hot car to the air-conditioning magicians, and then into the city, baby sleeping in the back,* Daddyo says to me, “Look on the bright side” as I’m sitting there, exhausted, wondering if I’ll risk another coffee or if it will just make me super anxious. If it will make me nervy-shaky, not just tired-shaky.

Stuck in the enough-not-quite-enough caffeine limbo …

… with tired eyes, sore eyes that make me feel as if there’s someone pinning my lids back, Clockwork Orange style, but with pure chlorine being dripped in.

And Pollyanna says, “Well he slept from 1:30 and 4:30 this morning, that’s about three hours straight sleep last night, that’s good, isn’t it?” all sparkly and fresh-like.

And I say,

“No, it fucking isn’t.”

 

*Baby-sleep in car! Wasted sleep opportunity!

The 11* commandments of mothers’ groups**

  1. Thou shalt not block the aisles with a pramslide.

  2. Thou shalt not take thine’s own baked goods to the café. (This is somone’s business, dammit. Brandish your baked goods elsewhere.)

  3. Thou shalt never change a nappy in view, or smell, of other patrons. No, not even a wet one.

  4. Thou shalt keep thine offspring close. The other diners don’t really want to play with your kids; they’re being polite.

  5. Thou shalt pay for damages, or at least offer.

  6. Thou shalt resist the temptation to bite the child that bit yours.

  7. Thou shalt seek approval before uploading to social media.

  8. Thou shalt help thine toddler pick up scattered toys, books, or furniture, unless they’re having a tantrum meltdown, in which case thou shalt leave in haste.

  9. Thou shalt not be boastful about a full night’s sleep, an active sex life, developmental milestones, or fitting pre-pregnancy jeans.

  10. Thou shalt not let thine dog lick another’s baby’s face. They do not find it cute.

  11. Actually, thou shalt leave thine dog at home. Six toddlers is enough animal madness for anyone’s sanity.

 
*because someone always has to go one better, don’t they?

**yes, ok, “parents’ groups”

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