In contrast to the intense haze of the early days, life with a 3-year-old and a not-far-off 2-year-old has become surprisingly manageable. Life has more of a pattern to it now. And both girls are in nursery care at least 2.5 days a week, meaning I have more time and energy to devote to running my own business.
The potty training I had been dreading and putting off – expecting to have plenty of stomach-churningly funny anecdotes to include in a blog post – passed by astonishingly without incident. I was *almost* disappointed. The beauty of leaving it until she was 3 years old meant she went straight from nappy to toilet seat. I haven’t had to wipe out the contents of a potty (actually more gross than dealing with a soiled nappy if you think about it…)
Life is more manageable now, but obviously not without its quirks.
In a new twist to our routine, after Wednesday morning church playgroup I now drop MiniM#2 off at granny’s house for a nap, before taking MiniM#1 on to a certain coffee shop for lunch together. Now she’s older, and out of nappies, I’m thrilled at the notion of a one-on-one mother-daughter lunch.
The reality, however, turns out to be somewhat removed from the notion.
The first time we went, she refused to eat anything, because her toasted sandwich had traces of tomato in it. The entire lunchtime was spent with me cajoling her to eat and her saying ‘no.’ A total flop and waste of money.
Yesterday however was a slightly improved, if not toe-curling experience. Luckily ham and cheese toasties were in stock, which she normally likes.
But, as she cast her discerning eye over the shelf, she instead declared she wanted a brightly coloured kids’ smoothie. I flatly told her ‘no, you need to choose a sandwich.’ Her wail became louder and more insistent, and wary of causing a ‘scene’ I eventually found myself saying ‘if you eat your sandwich then let’s see.’
We found a nice sunny spot by the window and the lunch started off beautifully. She was in a grown-up chair, drinking water out of a glass, eating her toastie nicely and we chatted pleasantly. I was marvelling about how grown-up she was. But I was brought rapidly back to earth again:
“Mummy, what’s that lady’s name?”
“Which lady?”
“That lady over there!” she insisted, jabbing her finger in the direction of a woman in a grey jumper in her early thirties.
“Erm..” I began, conscious she wasn’t going to let this go. “Why don’t you ask her?”
“No mummy, I’m shy, you ask her…”
Determined to maintain the dynamics of this merry mother-daughter lunch, I found myself making eye-contact with the woman, who seemed to be aware we were talking about her.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking you this.. ahem.. but my daughter wanted to know your name,” I ventured, slightly surprising myself at the lengths I was going to.
MiniM#1 looked mortified and turned to face in the opposite direction.
The woman smiled “Sure, it’s X,” she began. She then proceeded to tell me her life story.
I froze as it dawned on me – maybe she thinks I was chatting her up.
I smiled awkwardly and she went to sit at a nearby table, glancing up at me every few minutes.
I focused on MiniM#1 who was now staring at a man reading the paper while he drank his coffee.
“Mummy? What’s that man’s name?”
“No darling,” I said flatly. “I’m not asking everyone their names. It’s ok if a child does it, but not if a grown-up does,” I explained, already imagining her confusion at my logic. “Have you finished your toastie? Shall we go now?”
“Mummy I want THAT,” she answered, pointing at the brand name smoothie from earlier. It was overpriced and young children aren’t really supposed to have drinks with high sugar content, especially not through a straw. It ruins their teeth.
“Darling I told you no.”
“But mummy,” the voice took on a more reasonable tone. “When we were standing over there you said if I ate my toastie then I could.”
Damnit. She was more or less right. Not wanting to quibble, or spoil the nice interaction we’d had, I went over and bought the pricey fruit drink. It was a one-off after all.
I punctured the carton with a straw and passed it to her. She took a feeble sip and scrunched up her nose. “Mummy I don’t like it.”
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Calamitous Mummy 