As a parent there is nothing more thrilling than hearing your little one utter that first word. You find yourself eagerly listening out for any hint of a new phrase, becoming highly excitable every time they blurt out a new sound. It is wonderful witnessing their amazing development.
Until they learn how to say ‘NO!’
And all of a sudden the answer to Every. Single. Little. Thing is…. NO!
For your child it is the first taste of independence, the realisation that they actually have a say. For the mother it is a form of mental torture akin to banging your head against a brick wall.
“No! No! No! No! No! No!”
Ahh. Sweet memories.
O is for Organisation…
When you have small children you need to be organised if you want to make it out of the house before noon. Very organised. In the weeks that followed the birth of little C and my induction into the world of mothering two under two I was the most organised I’ve ever been. Snacks and lunches were prepared every evening to save time during the day, the nappy bag was always well stocked and every day was planned with military precision. Up at the crack of dawn and out the door no later than 0900 hours…
But even the most organised mothers become unstuck from time to time. I’ve found myself locked out of the house with no keys, at the supermarket check out with no purse and the worst…. Stuck indoors on a rainy day…. Without any tea!
P is for poo…
When I was pregnant with G, a good friend described Mecconium (otherwise known as baby's first poo) as something out of a horror movie. The thick, black, tar-like substance sticks to the newborn bottom like treacle. It is nature's joke on new mothers who are ‘Ooohing and Ahhhing’ one minute and ‘Ewwwing and Arrrging’ the next.
In the early days of motherhood my friends and I talked about poo so much that we invited a whole language to deal with is many variations. ‘Poonamis’ were runny yellow poo up the back, ‘Poosplosions’ were runny yellow poo down the legs and ‘Pootastrophes’ were a combination of the two.
There was a deeply worrying phase of green poo. Then, following the introduction of solids there was a deeply worrying phase of orange poo.
I have been covered in poo more times than I wish to remember. I learnt several important lessons the hard way; baby poo is very squirty, never check for poo by dipping your finger into the back of a nappy and most importantly… if it smells bad from a distance… it’s a job for Daddy.
Now that G has completed her potty training we’ve moved into a whole new realm of poo. As she sits on the toilet she provides a delightful running commentary, pulling expressions worthy of a facial contortionist before hopping down to ‘rate’ the poo.
“A big one!’
And then merrily waves it goodbye as she flushes it away round the U-bend.
Please tell me this is normal!
I had you going there didn’t I? well, when you’re relentlessly mothering small children there is no quiet time… sorry…
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