Skip to main content

Things I'd forgotten about babies

Having had no babies in our house for half a decade Alpha and I are in dire need of a refresher course before the arrival of Peanut this summer. So we've been hanging out with as many small babies as possible in an effort to ease ourselves back in gently prior to the Big Event.

This is what we've figured out:

Babies are really cute. Especially when they smile. And they smell really good. Plus they feel nice to cuddle. And persuading a baby to fall asleep with minimal screeching feels a bit like winning the lottery. But all this is only really great in the context of other people's babies. Because then you can hand them back when they shout or if they've done one of those really nasty up-the-back-of-the-babygro yellow poos. Or if you want to do something nice and solitary, like go for a wee.

This is because babies are tiny dictators. Their weapons of choice are noise pollution, sleep deprivation and projectile poo - and they have no moral qualms about launching their arsenal at the slightest provocation.  Like the most successful of history's tyrants, babies lack any comprehension that they do not rule the world, throw fits of rage if their every whim is not met like five minutes ago and are at their happiest when surrounded by cringing slaves desperate to avoid their terrible wrath.

The other important thing to remember is that babies have no manners. They think nothing of interrupting dinner, phone calls, sleep and other necessary pleasures in favour of their own selfish needs. Even when you ignore them they fail to take the hint. They really are terribly rude.

With all this in mind, Alpha and I - cosy and complacent as we are due to having school-age kids who can thankfully (finally) wipe their own bottoms and understand the concept of bribery - are now running scared. Understandably, right? I mean, come on...

In stark contrast Firstborn and the Small(er) One are both beyond excited and recently announced that their ancient mother is Up The Duff in the weekly school 'Show & Tell', thus brilliantly trumping all the other kids with their yawnsome pigeon feathers and suchlike. In fact, maybe the adoring older siblings could bring the Peanut up while Alpha and I carry on with Life As Usual? Just think, it will be a superb life lesson for the girls plus hopefully will put them off snogging boys and other rude stuff, thus acting as a mental chastity belt for years to come.

Now that's what I call a win-win situation.

Comments

Dorothy Rimson said…
Nice post. Enjoyed reading it.
Anonymous said…
If you have a boy, you will have your aforementioned baby behaviour for ever, thus terrifying your girls into psychotic chastity - even a nunnery - and so securing them a future of relaxed bliss and sleepful nights. You are so unselfish and caring, YLM. I wish you were my Mummy!
Kate B. said…
Thanks guys. I am available to rent by the hour for Mummy duties at a most reasonable rate (discount for cash and bulk bookings) but please be advised I don't go in for any of that funny adult nappy stuff. You're barking up the wrong tree with me if you're into giant baby dummies and the like. Just so there's no confusion. OK? Thanks.

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...