The Poop's hatred of Being Still, in just the last twenty four short hours, has DEVELOPED.
When Betty gets out of the bath in the evening, there are always low level grumbles. As you dress her in pyjamas for bed, there are a few slightly more disgruntled protestations, and occasionally, if you're being too slow, you may experience a few whinges as she waits for her supper. But other than that, she's not a jot of trouble.
Until she actually heard me say it out loud. And since then - we've had a problem.
The Poop has clearly decided to up her game, making enough room in her ram-packed schedule of moving about to fit in a few slices of out and out naughtiness. And I'm not talking mischievousness. Mischief is endearing, cute, playful. I'm talking disobedient. Unruly. Badly behaved. She's even cracked open a few "you're not giving me my own way" tantrums.
This wayward behaviour rears its head when you cruelly, mercilessly, maliciously, vindictively and ever so heartlessly attempt to CHANGE HER NAPPY.
Roughly five times a day we have a battle on our hands. A messy, smelly, carpet staining war.
Issue One
She won't lie down.
Clearly, I am out of touch with the kids. Lying down must have recently been demoted to that unsavoury, much maligned world of 'The Pastime Of A Nerd'. It is for losers. Wimps. Weeds. No cool dude would EVER be caught lying down. Er? Hello?! Lying down is to Boo what Hi-Tec trainers were to my Year Nine changing room - a shameful manifestation of awkward embarrassment and complete humiliation (especially when someone Tip Ex'd out 'Hi' and scribbled 'Low' over it with a biro).
Lying down and any association with it must be avoided at all costs and this can be done by screaming hysterically/scrumpling yourself in a ball/kicking your legs in the air violently.
Issue Two
She won't let you unfasten it.
In another example of political correctness gone mad, it turns out shackling babies to the ground is frowned upon. Consequently I must next wrestle and tussle with Boo while she wails, cries, punches, yells and rolls her surprisingly strong body melodramatically about the floor, while I snatch hopelessly at the two plastic tabs on either side. Only those with years of Tetris practise have nimble enough fingers to access the fastenings at such a frantic pace. Sadly, I was a Super Mario girl.
After an assortment of crab like back arches from The Poop, I can usually claw at the plastic sufficiently that it begins to weather enough to allow it to be torn apart from her obstinate little body.
Issue Three
She kicks its contents everywhere.
Once I am able to access the joys nestled within the layers of shredded plastic, the tenacious little madam really goes for gold, persistently slamming her heels into her brown dumplings of faecal matter and smearing them across carpet, towel, changing mat, sofa, pram. Anything in touching distance; she isn't fussy. For good measure, she will also, always at this point in the proceedings, grab a handful of my hair and manage to pull me down into the thick of the nappy action and ensure I am on first name terms with its foul contents.
And she has the nerve to continue to cry. Little sod.
So that'll teach me. Don't ever say anything nice about my daughter. Not even if I really want to. Not even in a joke. And most certainly not if she can hear me.
Her self esteem will never surpass rock bottom, but at least I won't have to pick poo out of my eyelashes.
This wayward behaviour rears its head when you cruelly, mercilessly, maliciously, vindictively and ever so heartlessly attempt to CHANGE HER NAPPY.
Roughly five times a day we have a battle on our hands. A messy, smelly, carpet staining war.
Issue One
She won't lie down.
Clearly, I am out of touch with the kids. Lying down must have recently been demoted to that unsavoury, much maligned world of 'The Pastime Of A Nerd'. It is for losers. Wimps. Weeds. No cool dude would EVER be caught lying down. Er? Hello?! Lying down is to Boo what Hi-Tec trainers were to my Year Nine changing room - a shameful manifestation of awkward embarrassment and complete humiliation (especially when someone Tip Ex'd out 'Hi' and scribbled 'Low' over it with a biro).
Lying down and any association with it must be avoided at all costs and this can be done by screaming hysterically/scrumpling yourself in a ball/kicking your legs in the air violently.
Issue Two
She won't let you unfasten it.
In another example of political correctness gone mad, it turns out shackling babies to the ground is frowned upon. Consequently I must next wrestle and tussle with Boo while she wails, cries, punches, yells and rolls her surprisingly strong body melodramatically about the floor, while I snatch hopelessly at the two plastic tabs on either side. Only those with years of Tetris practise have nimble enough fingers to access the fastenings at such a frantic pace. Sadly, I was a Super Mario girl.
After an assortment of crab like back arches from The Poop, I can usually claw at the plastic sufficiently that it begins to weather enough to allow it to be torn apart from her obstinate little body.
Issue Three
She kicks its contents everywhere.
Once I am able to access the joys nestled within the layers of shredded plastic, the tenacious little madam really goes for gold, persistently slamming her heels into her brown dumplings of faecal matter and smearing them across carpet, towel, changing mat, sofa, pram. Anything in touching distance; she isn't fussy. For good measure, she will also, always at this point in the proceedings, grab a handful of my hair and manage to pull me down into the thick of the nappy action and ensure I am on first name terms with its foul contents.
And she has the nerve to continue to cry. Little sod.
So that'll teach me. Don't ever say anything nice about my daughter. Not even if I really want to. Not even in a joke. And most certainly not if she can hear me.
Her self esteem will never surpass rock bottom, but at least I won't have to pick poo out of my eyelashes.
No comments:
Post a Comment