I was going to call this “Part Deux” but then realised it would make me sound like a cross between a complete wanker and Derek Trotter. I have enough of being a wanker this week, what with my parenting faux pax in Sainsbury’s on Monday:
Yes, that is my little darling dragging a shopping basket around my local supermarket. It was heaving in there, hot and sweaty, and people were pissed off enough without tripping over an over excited toddler lugging around a basket like a tramp on special brew. I often forget that no one else finds my two year old cute, funny and sweet and sometimes I am the entitled cow snapping photos for Instagram in the milk aisle. I am sorry.
Tuesday brings it’s own special kind of horror: toddler group. I only take her because I think I have to, truth is, she moans incessantly though the whole thing and is prone to pushing other children when she doesn’t get her own way. Plus, there are a group of mums there who don’t seem to like me and the while experience makes me feel like I am back in year 10 trying to get in with the cool girls. Cool I am not, because this is how I turned up at the group:
One of these trainers is mine, the other belongs to my teenage son and is a size too big. I didn’t even notice until a three year old pointed it out to me. Cheers.
Wednesday we had a ‘playdate’. Playdate in our house is code for another child coming round who Edie just about tolerates touching her stuff until she blows and has a meltdown about twenty minuets in. I was looking forward to this one as I wanted to get to know the mum better. Unfortunately, as soon as se walked into the kitchen she was faced with this:
Yes, I like to make rude words from my child’s puzzle pieces and adorn my house with them, the immature person I am. She seemed shocked, so I blamed it on my teenager. Now she thinks I am a terrible mother and I don’t think she wants to be friends.
Thursday, the photo speaks for itself:
She was a shit all day so I gave in and let her share her yogurt with the cat.
Friday: Father’s day is coming. Ive bought one of those wanky cards with a heart cut out to put a photo in. My child is hit and miss with photos; either posing hands on hips like a tiny version of Miley Cyrus or screaming and trying to hit the camera. So I sat her on a stool and did my best. This is the action shot before she needed to go to A&E to have her head glued back together: