Yesterday, R and I had a perfect day under a beautiful London winter sun.
Today? She turned into a bit of a sh*tlord.
Why is it that as soon as you think you’re getting the hang of this motherhood thing, that bitch called reality comes and smacks you back down?
Yesterday was a true delight. She was compliant with every request. Get your shoes. Get your coat. Wear your hat. Stay in your buggy. Wait for mummy. Hold still while I takes pictures. Eat your lunch nicely.
Today went something like this:
Her: Yoghurt Pig.
Me: Wait a minute, please.
Her: Yooooooghuuuurt Pig *stamps feet* I need it.
Me: Mummy just wants to drink her coffee first.
Her: *hysterical crying* I need Bing! More Bing!
Me: *gets yoghurt anything but more Bing*
Her: Don’t worry Mummy.
She often tells me not to worry. Usually when she’s up to no good.
Come midday, she’s running around naked. Refusing to have a nappy change. Refusing to get dressed. Demanding that we go out.
Her: Go out now.
Me: You aren’t dressed! How can we go out when you won’t get dressed?
Her: Coat on. Playground.
Me: But you’re naked! Just get dressed. Please!
Her: Don’t worry Mummy. I get wellies.
After finally getting her dressed, whilst bribing her with Peppa Pig, we are almost ready to leave the house and head to Sainsbury’s (exciting). I go to put my shoes on. She pulls her socks off. I can’t find where she’s hidden the socks. I find new socks. I put them on. I ask her to get her shoes. “I lost them. Find them Mummy. They lost. Oh no”. Repeat x 10. *grumble*
Her: Need yellow coat Mummy.
Me: Oh darling, it’s at Grandad’s house. We have to use your other coat.
Her: Yellow coat…I…*sob* need *sob* yellow *sob* coat!
Me: Grandad is looking after it dumpling.
Her: Noooooooo! Yellow coat! My yellow coat! *throws self on floor*
We get to the shops, finally.
Her: Ice lolly! I need iiiiiiiiiice lolly?
Me: What? Are you crazy? It’s freezing outside and your nose is running!
Her: Ice lolly! Pleeeeeeeease.
Me: Hell no.
Her: *sob. Falls asleep*
Lunchtime:
Me: Eat your crackers properly Ramona. Don’t just lick the cheese off.
Her: *shakes head*
Me: Please Ramona. You need to bite the crackers.
Her: *puts fingers in cheese spread then wipes it across the table*
Me: *sigh* Please! You must bite!
Her: *takes a bite. Trickles it back out like some kind of mushed crackers and cheese waterfall*
Me: How about you try some chicken then? Or some butternut squash? That used to be your favourite.
Her: *shakes head* Nonononononononono. No. No Mummy.
Mummy. Get down.
I told my friend Cyndi about the lunchtime scenario and she sent me this Louis CK link. Oh, how I laughed.
“They have your footprint at the hospital! They know I have you! I’m not allowed to let you die, you piece of shiiiiit. EAT IT! You’re on the grid mother fucker! EAT!”
The day chugs on. We attempt to learn our numbers. She just wants to jump on the bed, causing my heart to literally BURST out of my chest. She counts to 10, constantly, but missing ‘seven’ ; the only number she would previously say.
Her: 1,2,3,4,5,6…8,9,10 BLAST OFF!!!
Me: No! Listen! 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8…
Her: BLAST OFF!!!
Me: No! Why won’t you say 7…
Her: 8,9,10 BLAST OFF!!!
Me: SEVEN! Say seven!
Her: BLAST OFF!!! *jumps on bed. Laughs* 3,2,1 BLAST OFF!!!
Me: Please stop jumping on the bed. It’s not funny and it scares me.
Her: *puts finger on lips* quiet, Mummy.
Dinnertime:
Me: Boo, where are you?
Her: *giggle*
Me: *searching for the giggle, opens the junk cupboard under the stairs*
Her: *giggle*
Me: Get out of there! Immediately!
Her: *giggle* I climb!
*dinner’s burning*
Her: Stuck! Stuck Mummy! Let go!
Me: *gets her unstuck*
Her: *shuts herself in the cupboard and does it all again*
REPEAT. X 20
But all of this dissipates when she sits and chats to you at dinner. She gets down with the remainder of her pizza and says “Come on pizza! This is lovely Mummy! It’s nice.”
Even if she did throw the remainder on the floor 2 seconds later…
baby made a mess 
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