I was going to tell you all about last weekend, when I went out in Essex (I know, I’m 30 years old with a child, the concept of ME going out in ESSEX is indeed totes ridic). But today started and ended with something rather lovely, and totally nuts, so I thought I would tell you about that instead. Essex to follow.
The majority of our Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursday start with a little toddler-based resistance. Generally because this particular toddler’s particularly clumsy oaf of a Mother disturbs him in the morning by banging and crashing around the house and swearing quietly under her breathe whilst trying to get ready for work. And by resistance, read flinging of toys, choruses of ‘I DON’T WANT TO GO TO NURSERY, I AM VERY VERY CROSS, NO I WON’T SAY BYE BYE TO MUMMY I WANT TO WATCH CHUGGINGTON.’ I can’t blame him for this, in fact he is impressively articulate for a member of our family who has been disturbed from sleep – I can muster little more than a snarl and a flick of the Vs when in his boat.
No such wailing this morning! No, this morning I was a badass stealth ninja and got myself over the stair-gate (I climb over it to avoid waking him, which is my equivalent of hiking Kilimanjaro in terms of peril), down the stairs avoiding all of the creaky floorboards, into the shower, washed, out of the shower, into the Kitchen to make a pot of tea, back up the stairs again avoiding creaks, back over stair-gate, into room, dressed and ALL THE MAKEUP thrown onto my face without rousing him. I am a champion.
So Blake was one happy, rested toddler when he woke.
Of late, he has fallen madly in love with all of the teddies he has until now spurned. They have sat forlornly on top of his wardrobe, crying out to be cuddled and chewed and muddied in puddles, utterly disregarded. But all of a sudden, they are the bees-knees! And bedtime each night involves a highly complex round of negotiations, of trying and testing to determine the perfect teddies to be Blake’s bedtime companions for that night.
Last night, four were selected, one of which was the Very Hungry Caterpillar. Blake is quite mad for this book and its accompanying teddy at the moment. By the morning, Caterpillar had endured the topple of doom onto the bedroom floor, and I thought it might amuse Blake to covertly grab Caterpillar and make him peep up over the side of the bed when I went in to say good morning.
And amuse Blake it did. What I did not expect was what followed: ‘Can you make him dance Mummy?’ So Caterpillar did a little dance, which was met with thunderous applause and the request to ‘Sing a song for the dance Mummy.’ And so I conjured up a high pitched, Caterpillar-stylee version of Benny Hill (fitting soundtrack to my life).
And what should happen? ALL OUT RAVE.
I kid you not. With much shrieking and encouragement from Blake, who was immediately on his feet, jumping on the bed and dancing like a loon clutching his teddy and stuffed dog, I was suddenly screeching my unique rendition of Benny Hill, clutching a Caterpillar, dancing like I have not danced in 5 years and making a stuffed rabbit rave at the same time.
We kept this up for, I reckon, a good ten minutes. By the end! Caterpillar had danced over the bedstead and taken up residence on the top of it, Blake was screeching with laughter and I was doubled over, exhausted. I think I burnt one million calories.
I often find myself a little sad about the number of things Blake does or says each day which make me laugh or amaze me, because I know that when I look back at this year I probably won’t remember the majority of them. In the moment itself, they mean so much, but they are almost immediately lost.
But this one I will remember. I have recorded it here for posterity but even if I had not I believe this one would stick with me because for 10 minutes we had an absolute blast. It was an unplanned, unexpected moment of pure joy.
Come bedtime this evening, a repeat performance was demanded. I am shattered and happy. Children are brilliant and, as my friend Clare remarked the other day having watched her 2 year old Son insist on trying on blusher in our local Boots, B.O.N.K.E.R.S
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