I have relabelled yesterday as an epic freaking fail.
In fact, this has been coming for most of the week I’m sure.
Teething, toddlerhood and tantrums do not make for a happy home. Who knew!
Anywho, because I am a very special breed of inflexible idiot, I ploughed on with my plans for today which included…
A Plum baby food party, a session of baby hip hop. Nope, no need to re-read that last bit, you read it right. Baby hip hop, and then packing for two separate weekends away (me to Birmingham and my babies to the grandparents with Mr L)
The plan for the day went something like this…
6am- alarm goes off and following an uninterrupted night of blissful sleep which had been preceded by a warm and relaxing bath I hop out of bed and pad quietly downstairs to prepare for my party.
7am- I rouse the girls and they, refreshed and ready for the day join me at the table for a delightful breakfast listening to Chris Evans interview Ussain Bolt.
8am- Pop back upstairs, get everyone dressed (in the pre-selected outfits) and fun, free (but ultimately educational) play ensues until baby nap time around 9:15.
9:30- Welcome other mums and babes into my clean, tidy, inviting home and in a fun yet structured and organised way, allow them to sample some Plum baby food.
Offer round tea, coffee and cakes to support Macmillan Worlds Biggest Coffee Morning Appeal. Cakes are obviously homemade.
Everyone eats, enjoys and chats.
I display incredible hostess skills and am able to answer all baby related queries like an expert that isn’t a smug nanny without kids.
12:00- Reluctantly say a fond farewell to the remainder of our guests and settle baby for lunchtime sleep.
Spend some good quality quiet time with toddler. Most likely reading, giggling and enjoying each others company.
13:00- Wake baby and walk up to Baby hip hop in glorious sunshine commenting on the wildlife and other points of interest. Toddler chats contentedly as baby babbles in reply.
13:30- Baby Hip-Hop class is taken by visiting teacher; Beyonce and daughter Blue.
Toddler takes to it like a duck to water and is so good at getting down with her bad self that Beyonce invites us out to visit in the good ol’ U S of A.
14:30- Amble home for biscuit, juice and story time. (Probably with NBF Beyonce)
Afternoon passes in a whirl of tea parties and ball pool fun, mostly independent of me.
17:00- Dinner time! Naturally a home cooked meal which I’d rustled up whilst listening to Richard Bacon.
Eat and chat about the days events.
18:00- Having cleared the table and tidied the kitchen we all trot happily upstairs for bath time. This is half an hour of singing, splashing and unadulterated cuteness.
Milk, stories and sleep.
19:01- Pour glass of wine and cook healthy, balanced meal for husband and have a two way, intelligent conversation over dinner.
22:00- Time for bed. Look so utterly ravishing that husband can not stop complimenting me and we have the sort of sex that is usually reserved for films. Though I develop a healthy sheen through a good level of enjoyable exertion, I neither sweat or knock husband out with swinging breast. (It can happen. I saw it on This Morning).
Here is the painful re run of what actually occurred it ain’t pretty.
5am- Teething baby awakes and can not be soothed with cuddles, calpol or crack (baby teething granules) so we head downstairs.
Am unable to put her down without serious crying so my efforts to blow up balloons for the Plum party are somewhat futile.
Dreams of putting out various taster bowls with ‘guess the ingredients’ games ala Masterchef taste test slide into the abyss.
7am- Toddler wakes and requests a nana (this is a banana, not her grandmother) for breakfast. Recall that I promised her one yesterday and did not deliver.
Make emergency call to sister for back up.
Can not fulfil toddler demands for cuggles and maintain a happy baby so do half a job on each and top up with Thomas the Tank.
8am- nana arrives courtesy of Uncle Pete. Toddler totally non-plussed by it.
Stress levels rising.
Balloons still wait…
8:47- Wrestle toddler into clothes and chase crawling baby to dress. Put baby down for nap.
Throw on some clothes selected from the wardrobe that is the bedroom floor. Scratch off something that looks like yesterday’s dinner.
9:00- Resist temptation to pour a gin and have baroca instead.
Attempt to get kitchen into some kind of order in time for party.
Fail due to toddlers requests for attention and the feeling that she will be scarred if I ignore or refuse. Oh good, baby wakes- crying.
Receive 3 cancellation messages which leads me to believe the big man thinks I’ve bitten off more than I can chew…
9:30-Welcome other mums and babes into my
clean, tidy, inviting home and haphazardly offer drinks, food etc. Very probably forget to deliver on these offers.
Begin talking about Plum but need to raise voice to Brian Blessed levels to be heard so give out a selection of pouches which are very well received.
Revel in a couple of minutes of relative calm.
Begin talking about Plum but have to abandon due to toddlers banging together the magnet boxes and playing keyboard.
Ah ha- noisy gifts, only ever purchased by family members and friends that want to age you faster than an apple in an airing cupboard.
This madness continues unabated until noon when I put baby down for nap.
Other mothers look made up, gorgeous and in control. I manage to not hate them only because they are mothers of one child, under one. Ah- how fondly I remember those times….
13:00- Baby wakes, crying and I remember Hip Hop. Bundle guests out of house in rush and bundle girls into buggy.
Turn to survey the pit that is the kitchen and inwardly weep.
13:30- meet mummy friends at local dance studio and get led down windy corridor into windowless studio full of mirrors. Hoorah, this will do wonders for my self esteem and body image.
Complete warm up exercises to a Venga Boys track (We like to Party for fans, the choice of song just rubs salt in the wounds of my morning!)
And then spend next 40 minutes dancing and marching to various nursery rhymes. Hip hop it ain’t.
Catch sight of myself in the mirror during one song and me and the reflection have a moment of clarity.
This is fucking madness. Money for old rope.
The dance teacher must, MUST have seen us coming.
£8 for 45 minutes of haphazard marching and chucking a Pom Pom around.
Not again Mrs, not on my watch.
The kids did seem to enjoy it but no more than kids enjoy looking at themselves in the mirror and copying anyone singing and shaking their ass.
Feel bad for criticising class.
Baby falls asleep in pushchair so get toddler out and suggest going to playroom. She responds with a lion type noise. Baby wakes and the three of us can be found crying in the garage!
This continues off and on until 5:45 when I give up the ghost and declare an early bath.
I am a shell of a woman.
Toddler has crying fit and refuses to come upstairs. I take up baby and then have the mind game of which one to leave to get the other one. It is like the puzzle of how to get the fox, chicken and grain over the river.
Put baby in cot.
Run downstairs and get toddler.
Run back up.
All of my pent up frustration dissipates the moment they get in the bath and begin chattering and splashing.
‘Kick kick Nana’ (this means Hannah, not banana or Grandma) says toddler gently taking the baby’s feet and showing her what to do.
Bed. All climb into bed for ITNG. Two worn out girls in bed for 7pm. At least that part of the plan worked out.
No word from husband. Put on PJ’s and begin clear up and packing.
Husband arrives home, asks how my day has been and is treated to hormonal tidal wave and tears.
Welcome home darling.
He responds by saying;
Baby Hip Hop. This is The Wirral, not The Bronx.
Too true Mr L. Too true.
Trudge upstairs both so knackered that conversation is monosyllabic.
Set alarm for 5am so we can get going on two separate weekends away.
Bloody hell, that was a tough one.