Monday
A tell-tale wet patch in D’s bed. But it wasn’t him. No, it was Buzz Lightyear’s cowboy sidekick Woody apparently. Strange that Woody has spent the night lying in a heap on the floor of the landing, nowhere near D’s bed. And he presumably doesn’t have an incontinence problem, being plastic.
So much for our celebrations yesterday when we reached a new child development milestone – the first ever dry night without a nappy. Yes, of course we should be getting up in the middle of every night to drag him to the bathroom until he gets the idea that it’s normal to wake up, THEN go to the loo rather than the other way round. According to the childcare experts, we should be doing a lot of things that we aren’t.
Sunday
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D’s cousins round for the afternoon. This is the signal for D to go totally mad with excitement as they all steam up and down the stairs shouting into the Thomas the Tank Engine walky-talkies which someone gave him for Christmas two years ago and which have never worked properly.
Never mind that it’s a hot day, the paddling pool is lying enticingly filled up in the garden and all three mummies are sitting poised to watch them play. It’s always more fun playing upstairs in the grown-ups’ bedroom.
I escape to the gym to force myself through a workout. I’m going on what could be rather an energetic walking holiday in the Lake District next week with a group of people whose idea of a good time is to stride across the fells for fifteen miles a day, then keep up a similar pace for the next five days. Not for them the sort of holiday we’ve had recently where walking more than 20 steps at a time is a major achievement
Saturday
To friends for lunch. I didn’t believe there were still places in the south of England so small and in the middle of nowhere that they aren’t marked on the AA roadmap but it’s true. Our friends live in one.
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We nearly don’t get there at all, thanks to my chaotic organisation which consists of copying their number down wrong in my address book, not being able to phone them, then realising I don’t have the faintest idea of their address. We have vaguely arranged to meet up in the morning and follow them home but if they don’t turn up, they’ll have a lot of lunch to eat.
Fortunately they do turn up. Not everyone’s as dippy as me. A bit of an endurance test in the car on the way as D tries out his new found Knock-Knock jokes on us. Here’s a sample. D: Knock Knock. Mum: Who’s there? D: Buzz Lightyear’s friend. Mum: Buzz Lightyear’s friend who? D: Michael. Interesting answer and faintly amusing the first time, for all the wrong reasons. But pretty excruciating after an hour’s journey.
There was a time when D used to go to sleep in the car quite easily. Now he only does if we drug him up to the eyeballs with Phenergan the liquid cosh as E calls it. We bought several large bottles after he threw a road atlas at me from the back seat when I was doing 70 mph on the M5 on the way back from Cornwall two years ago.
Friday
An interesting row surfaces between the Co-op bank and Christian Voice whose voice was most recently lifted in disapproval against Jerry Springer the Opera. The Co-op has told CV to take its custom elsewhere because of its homophobic views. Thanks for your support for the gay community, Co-op. It’s always good to put your principles into practice, especially if you’re a bank, a type of organisation not known for turning customers away if there’s a chance of making money by selling them a dodgy life assurance policy. But the question is, where do you stop? If you’re too picky about people’s ethics and morals you could find yourself with no customers left
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Thursday
D and E fight back. It’s been a hot and bad tempered week, crouched at work on my computer with the curtains drawn to keep out the heat and the sight of the scrawny legs of the painter standing on the ladder outside my room painting the upstairs windows. I pay for my snappiness when D says pointedly: “You’re the boss”. Why? Because you’re always horrible to us, he replies.
Sorry, sorry, sorry. Maybe I should try a bit of work/life balance. Any other Pink Mums or Dads out there: I’ve just had an email from Jo Thornhill at Ricochet an independent TV company. She wants to talk to gay parents interested in featuring in a documentary called Who Rules the Roost? on BBC3. Apparently, it doesn’t have a smug nanny figure telling you you’re Really Bad Parents and it isn’t negative. It’s about taking time out from work life for a “fresh look” at your domestic situation.
But, says Jo chillingly: “In each programme normal childcare arrangements are suspended allowing each parent in turn to stay at home and look after the family for a two week trial period.” Normal childcare arrangements suspended? Look after the family for two weeks? I snap even if everyone’s at work all day, D’s at the childminder’s and I don’t have to look after anyone. I can’t do it. But if you can, e-mail Jo at Jo.Thornhill@ricochet.co.uk.
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