Monday 11th July 2016
Aah my son, today was not a good day for us. We butted heads, we yelled at one another, you refused to nap, and turned your nose at lunch. You demanded nappy-free time, then pissed on our freshly dry cleaned sofa, then followed up with another sterling effort by piddling all over Erroll’s vintage quilt, which your great grandmother Bonnie hand stitched. Toilet paper rolls became objects of desire: there was no stopping you: the apartment became mummified. Top marks for creativity, son.
Then while I am minding my own business, doing my business, in a wild fit of nervous compulsion, you decide to fling your toddler toothpaste across this iPad. Then while I am yelling and threatening all sorts, with remarkable speed you follow up with a full cup of water all over me – your captive audience, me your poor Mummá, sitting on the loo. Well I just lose it then and there, don’t I? No wonder you scurried to our bedroom and hid.
But rest assured my darling one, I don’t blame you for your actions. That fine mantel can go to your Bah-Bàh who thought it sensible to leave you/me/us at home, with a roast in the oven, for hours on end, and you developing cabin fever, while he exercised with kettle balls at the gym.
Well Bah-Báh did make amends when he returned to us all buff and muscular. Took you straight to scooter practice then our local kiddie park at the Dusit, leaving me to stew over the state of the apartment, deal with it (vacuum, scrub, wash down, dry, wash, hang out, tidy) get dinner ready and before I know it you two were back home, wet from perspiration, and in your hand the golden ticket: icecream!
My meltdown got wiped from memory when I saw just how happy our little boy is, oblivious to the day’s dramas, melted icecream all over that glorious face…