Real honest parenting

22 November 2019

Mummy bloggers like to have you believe that they're being dead honest when they give away little secrets like 'wearing the same jeans for 4 days straight' and sometimes 'using Peppa Pig as a surrogate parent' but they're not letting you in on the real realities of being parent to a mini terrorist so here's some things that toddlers do that really, really get on your tits:

Sharting becomes normal - when your kid is on his third stomach bug in as many months you can bet your arse that you're on the same and this means that instances like sharting just become a normal occurance. If you're not covered in someone else's shit then it's your own and around this time of year you're probably wondering what it was ever like to pass a firm still and if you'll ever know of it again. Probably not hun, stomach bugs are more regular than my periods these days so thanks for that Fred. 

Not eating - most kids go through a phase where they eat really well and you feel like you've struck gold on the kid-eating-veg competition but then suddenly and literally out of nowhere your child will decide that they no longer want to eat anything, a n y t h i n g other than toast and the mere suggestion of them considering something else is actual abuse and they would call childline if they knew what it was or how to. 

Toddler socks vanish - If you think matching up adult sized socks is a fiasco imagine ones a fraction of the size, I probably get Fred a new pack of socks each month and within a week I am only left with odd socks. Odd socks is one of those things that makes my right eye twitch and heart race a little but thanks to this tiny human's tiny feet and tiny socks my OCD behaviours are being challenged daily leading me stop giving a sh*t what he looks like for nursery which brings me to my next point...

Dressing for nursery - There was a time when I'd plan Fred's outfits to make him look as cute as poss for nursery so that I looked like a dead good mum...then he started walking. Trousers soon became ripped at the knees, shoes were scuffed in a day and there was this one time when he was shoved in a ditch to play and was covered head-to-toe in mud so I stopped giving a shit. Nice clothes are saved for the weekends and occasions when I need to look like a dead good mum, most of the week is spent wearing ripped trousers and slightly too short tops because I will make the most of every item of clothing until he can physically no longer wear it. 

Nicking your kid's food - Imagine this, you cook your little bundle of joy a classic meal of fish fingers, smiley faces and peas and as you serve it to him you think back to your own childhood and how much you enjoyed this grub. It's not your dinner time yet because you ate most of Greggs at lunch so you sit at the table with the child to be nice and chat and help them fill their little face with goodness only for them to take e v e r y s i n g l e pea off their plate, choke on your poison fingers and just suck on the faces. This brings on a range of emotions from concern for their malnourishment, disappointment that they can't just be a normal human and eat their dinner and anger that they don't know what a cracker of a meal they've been blessed with - this soon passes as you feed your emotions with the bits of food that haven't been choked on, on the floor or sucked....oh who's kidding, you eat the lot. 

Dropping a swear word - Fred likes to copy words, it's cute until I start talking about his Dad and now we have to say that Daddy is a digger because that is absolutely what Mummy said and definitely wasn't dick.

Kerchinging when child benefit goes in - kid's are expensive, so there's nothing more celebratory than a free £80 landing in the bank once a month - I like to consider it compensation for the sharts, endless hours of in the night garden and wasted food. 

There you have it, just a few realities from your fave mummy blogger. I'm off to make fred some avocado on toast - just kidding, Im napping whilst he dances to Iggle Piggle for the 8th time today. 

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