Tag Archives: toddler

Five reasons why it helps to be drunk while dealing with your toddler

Disclaimer: This was written when I was three glasses of wine donw… I mean down. Hee hee.

1. It seems funny when she spits out the idli you’re feeding her. Whooo look at that trajectory. Good job! *clap clap*

2. The terrific mess she and her bestie made in the drawing room suddenly becomes an amusing obstacle race. Wheee look at me go! Didn’t step on the broken guitar. Yessss! 

3. The five millionth repetition of whatever repellent cartoon she’s watching doesn’t bother you in the least. You haven’t seen it spin around in quite this way before. Joke’s on you, kid. One more episode? Suuuuure. Go right ahead.

4. It doesn’t even bother you that she seems to be coming down with the fifth cold of this month. Sneeze. Blow your nose. Or not. Whatever. 

5. Bedtime? What’s that? “Amma, I want to sleep!” Seriously? Ok, now I’m just hallucinating…

 

2 Comments

Filed under Family, Humour, Motherhood

Results of this morning’s Bored Toddler Olympics

 Throwing multi-coloured balls onto pink blow-up chair (note: participant disqualified for not maintaining required distance from chair while throwing)

Emptying contents of salt shaker onto dining table : Gold awarded to Disha for spreading the salt evenly at fastest speed, but subsequently taken away for trying to mix diaper rash cream into salt

Running round and round in circles in the drawing room: Gold awarded to Disha for miraculously not stumbling over the few hundred toys on the floor

Tickling and rolling around the floor giggling: Gold shared by Amma (tickling) and Disha (giggling) for superb coordination and teamwork

Pooping in the potty (sort of): Gold to Disha! Go go go Disha!

6 Comments

Filed under Family, Humour, Motherhood

Ten minutes in the life of a doll

I lay on on my toddler’s play mat tonight, overcome with a sort of lethargy, apathy, almost. Couldn’t get myself to move for any reason. She needed dinner… she needed her medicine… she needed to go to bed. For about 10 minutes, I just shut out those constant “mom-reminders” that ring in my head from morning to night, from the moment she wakes up to the moment she goes to bed at night. I didn’t want to think about everything that needed to be done, all the balls that I’m juggling, all those schedules that needed to be maintained. I just wanted to be, just another object lying on my daughter’s play mat.

And so I lay there. She was sitting right by me, reading a book. She stuck her foot into my nose and mouth a couple of times. Sat on my hip and bounced, announcing in delight that she was “jumping on amma”. She clambered over me, this way and then that, several times. She put her snack bowl over my face like an oxygen mask and watched me with the kindly attention of a ward nurse, to see how I’d react. I didn’t. It afforded her considerable entertainment, and for me it was strangely liberating. My day, just like every other day, had been spent monitoring what she was doing and wasn’t doing… “wear your clothes!” “don’t pull off your underwear!” “don’t throw the cup!” “come for your bath!”.  Now, since I was just another object on the mat, I could let it all be. For those ten minutes, it didn’t matter that she was sitting there playing bare-bottomed or that her cup lay in the far corner of the drawing room.

She lay next to me and played with my hair, humming under her breath. Then she gave me a hug and said, “Love you too, amma!” (the “love you” from my side was clearly a given). Then she went back to reading her book, her big toe lodged in my nostril again, apparently utterly contented. The child who’d spent the entire evening whining and clinging to me had disappeared. Some vestige of energy returned to my limbs and I sat up slowly. I reached for the discarded Peppa Pig undies, and wonder of wonders, she put it on without a fuss. Then I hoisted myself off the mat, ready for the dinner to bedtime drill.

My 10 minutes of suspended animation turned out to be the best thing I’d done all day. I’ve always wondered what it felt like to be one of my daughter’s favourite dolls. Contrary to what I’d assumed, it wasn’t a bad life at all.

***

The post was written in response to the Weekly Writing Challenge: Object over on The Daily Post.

14 Comments

Filed under Family, Motherhood