Baby Bore
« Previous Entries Next Entries »I know I dream about shopping, but my son?
Sunday, February 20th, 2005My son can be so earnest at times. I’ve posted about this before, the way that my son becomes daily more like me.
This morning he wakes up in my bed (don’t ask) after a hot, sweaty sleep. He looks at me with a wild-eye stare and says “We need to get more mayo, Mummy. We forgot it. We need to get more. At the store, Mummy.”
It’s true. We do need to get more mayonnaise at the store. But I wish my son would dream about something less domestic.
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Baby-Bore: All full up
Wednesday, February 16th, 2005In the years B.C. (before children) I swore like a trooper if the occasion merited it. Since Eldest Son was born I have tempered my language somewhat. I would like to say completely but that would be a lie. I have one particular expression which is not so much a profanity per se but which I use to sum up my feelings about some people. I use it now and again, but not usually when the children are around.
Today I cooked a roast lunch for me and the boys. It isn’t generally well received and today was no different. They didn’t eat much of it so I gave them some bread and I was glad that pudding was pancakes which I knew would fill them up.
As lunch was ending, I asked Harry if he wanted any more pancake.
“No, no more pancake thank you, no more pancake. I full up.” Pause. “I full of pancake. I full of bread and pancake.”
As he had eaten a bit of his roast chicken meal I endeavoured to get him to include this too. “What else are you full of baby?”
He sits there for a moment thinking hard.
“I full of shit, Mummy.”
I shan’t be using that expression anymore.
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Baby-Bore: who’s in charge here?
Monday, February 14th, 2005Matthew was in charge of getting the children up yesterday while I went out. So he goes into the boys room and starts to get the boys clothes out.
Eldest Son, Harry, leaps to the window and pulls the blinds up. “Look Daddy, it is bright, sunny day.”
Slight pause.
“It is really nice day. You can go play goff (golf) today, Daddy.”
Longer pause.
“Oh wait. You better ask Mummy if it OK first.”
That boy. He knows who’s in charge.
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Baby-Bore: contrary little so-and-so, aren’t wee?
Wednesday, February 9th, 2005I get the potty for Eldest Son, Harry, who is quite competent at being out of diapers, and who clearly knows his own mind.
“I don’t need a wee, Mummy.”
“Well it’s been ages since you had one, why don’t you just try for me?”
“I DON’T NEED A WEE, Mummy.”
Cursing silently, “I think you need a wee. Please just sit down for a minute.”
Screaming, writhing, hitting me (I really love my son at these times), “I DON’T NEED A WEE, MUMMY.”
“Well, you won’t have your Thomas the Tank Engine stickers until you’ve had a wee.”
Silence.
Sound of a big wee.
“Well done baby, that’s the biggest wee you’ve ever done.”
“See, Mummy, I TOLD you I needed a wee.”
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Baby-Bore: You can’t fault the logic of a three year old
Sunday, February 6th, 2005Second Son, William, now a glorious 20-month old, is busy with his building bricks. Now when William is busy with his bricks nothing gets in his way.
And apparently I’m not the only one to have noticed this.
Eldest Son, Harry, my argumentative three year old, throws a brick at Second Son.
“Harry, stop doing that. You wouldn’t want me to throw a brick at you, would you?”
“No,” says Harry mutely.
“That’s right,” I intone, “and why wouldn’t you want me to throw a brick at you?”
“Because it would hurt.”
“Right, so why are you throwing bricks at William?”
“Because he’s too busy to care.”
And, try as I might, I really can’t argue with that.
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