Despite his relentless protestations that he's apparently a big boy now, more often than not The Toddler appears to habitually regress and insist there's things he can't do, things like close a door or walk across the room or even sit up.  Perhaps it all sounds terribly twee yet believe me when I say it's exhaustingly frustrating.  Take the other morning for example, whilst trying to get us both dressed he declared he absolutely couldn't possibly put his trousers on.  Okay, picking my battles I told him I'd help as soon as I'd dressed myself.  Upon turning to see what he was doing he was still laid on the bed where he'd been moments before seeing as sitting up had become an impossibility in his world only he was hitting his winkie.  Yes, really.  Naturally I enquired as to why he was administering a torrent of smacks to it when he piped up 'I'm trying to make it go small again, Mummy.' Joy.  The reason The Toddler couldn't get dressed was revealed, his morning wood was getting in the way.  Blimey.

Surely things could only go, excuse the pun, up from here.

He's positively exuding raw energy, he flies down the stairs on his arse at hyperspeed, hands outstretched behind him to make a satisfying thud thud thud on each step as he impressively comes to a halt at exactly the right time to avoid a full on collision with the front door and bursts into the lounge.  Literally.  After all why use the door handle when you can bulldozer your way through it?  The Kitten, knowing what's best for her, scarpers up the stairs, knowing all too well that anytime all three of The Spawn are in an enclosed space, anyone in their right mind would make a swift sharp exit.  I take this opportunity, as The Toddler launches himself at an unsuspecting remote hogging Thing One and practices his seagull impression of 'MINE. MINE. MINE' thus instigating the first of many loggerhead situations of the day, to slip into the kitchen.  Whilst under the guise of preparing Thing Two's packed lunch for school, I self medicate as usual by stuffing as much chocolate into my mouth as I possibly can before they notice I've gone.  The  urgency serves two purposes firstly, if they see me having chocolate for breakfast they'll shriek at the injustice of it and secondly, quite frankly, I refuse to bloody share it.  Temporarily fortified, I finish the lunch and brave the lounge again, before I act upon the urge to flood a bowl of cocopops with vodka for breakfast wondering if it will turn the vodka chocolately.

The Husband is still sprawled on the sofa under his duvet, mumbling incoherences whenever The Spawn dare to ask him anything  becoming noticeably more pissed off each they remind him of the time.  I beckon Thing Two to the sanctity of the kitchen to complete the morning ritual of me doing something with her hair.  Something being the key word here seeing as I'm about as adept at hairstyling as I am at sewing.  Two wonky bunches later, two bobbles and six slides and I then commence operation fuck-off-nits as I fumigate her entire head with tea-tree oil spray to repel any beasties that may be visiting her friends at school.  She's asking if i's safe to breath yet as I compulsively squirt it just a few more times...just to be sure.  I'm half hoping it will repel undesirable children from nearing her too.

So, been up an hour or two already with The Toddler who probably breastfed for at least 40 mins of that.  I've gotton us both dressed, flushed two cat shits, fed The Kitten, prepared Thing Two's lunch, done her hair and then The Toddlers as he too wants clips and ponytails despite the fact he'll remove it all within minutes afterwards.  I've banished The Spawn upstairs for operation brush-your-skanky-teeth and told them not to return unless it's complete with a school jumper on.  The Husband is still half asleep on the sofa.  Eventually, and miraculously without me kicking him (shame), he awakes.  Here starts the routine 'I'm more tired than you' bollocks. Yes, competitive tiredness, welcome parenthood. Somehow him choosing to go out the night before to see a friend, getting in at 2am and not getting to sleep until 5am trumps my insomnia, my chronic fatigue, the night feeds and everything else.  Diddums.  My heart bleeds for him.  I issue the death glare whilst ensuring The Toddler isn't escaping what with him being a dab hand at unlocking doors nor watering the carpet with strawberry milk whilst he commences crumbling at the no icepops for breakfast ruling.

Regardless, I win and he does the school run.  Back of the net!

The next day was Busy Day, every Tuesday morning is shopping day.  Upon returning, amidst a sea of bags The Toddler is refusing to get up off the kitchen floor where he is laid and go into the friggin lounge.  Arse.  After telling him for the third time to go into the lounge he looks up at me with those saucer wide eyes and proclaims 'I can't take my shoes off you Plank' I don't know whether to be annoyed or impressed at his creative name calling, something The Husband and I excel at.  Granted it's infinitely better than The Husband telling me I have a fat back the night before, bang went his blow job rations for the rest of the year.

Later in the day the lounge is quite literally a bomb site.  I'm meticulously trying to locate all the sticklebricks and ask The Toddler to pass me the tub to put them in.  Predictably his reply was 'I can't' followed by 'I can't reach' and topped off with a 'I can't stand/walk/move' when I asked him to please get off his bum and get it.  However, he was perfectly capable of emptying all the cars and building bricks I'd put away, that he seemingly could do.  Futility threatening I ask one more time to which he replies 'I'm just annoying you now' .  He knows.  He knows he's annoying me, he knows because he's doing it on purpose.  Git.

Finally seeing a glimmer of carpet I go to rinse the hair dye from my hair.  As usual he trots up after me and has a mooch round Thing Twos room promising me he'd sit on her bed and watch a Scooby video, yes video, we're terribly retro darlings.  Towel turbened up and red eared I sneak up on him, he's hurriedly moving stuff.  I call out to him cheerfully that it's time to go back downstairs as he murmurs about 'just putting these back' aww, he's tidying up! Oh Please, don't be so stupid, really.  I assume he's been playing with the much coveted Moshlings.  I was wrong.  I caught him red handed, or should I say glitterhanded, in Thing Two's treasured make-up box.  Buggersticks.

Typically when Things One & Two returned from school, The Toddlers other personality comes out to play as he relentlessly fights with Thing One and follows Thing Two around like a lost puppy.  Still, I had to smirk when I hear The Toddler sternly berate Thing Two with 'Will you stop turning your TV off I'm sick and tired of having to turn it back on!'

I'm counting down the minutes until I can self medicate with chocolate again under the guise of cooking tea whilst day dreaming about which colour straw would compliment a bottle of vodka best whilst singing badly.  (seriously kittens have been killed by lesser evils than my singing) to my mp3 player, turning the volume up just enough to mute WWIII in the lounge.

The Toddler is telling his latest joke

Him 'Knock knock?'
Me 'who's there?'
Him 'Dr'
Me 'Dr who?'
Him 'Doctor POOMAN'

You see he takes after The Husband, he isn't funny either.

Still he's a lot more charming what with his morning compliments of 'I like your top.  You smell nice Mummy'
the boy will go far.

I'm losing track of days,  I'm too exhausted to sleep and too exhausted to be awake.  My new glasses keep falling off my nose and I'm contemplating which internal organ to sell to fund a new tattoo.

Still, as The Husband offers a cheeky stubble free snog and Things One and Two throw goodnight kisses for me to catch I settle down in the dark with The Toddler as he feeds to sleep, the lullaby of his gentle breaths soothing the soul...ready for it all to start again in morning.  Tis a good job I love the sods.

Toddler funnies

Whilst sat at the table eating dinner, The Toddler suddenly stops eating and mumbles 'oh, my phone's ringing....' followed by his small hand rummaging around the waist of his pj's (yes he's having a pj day, so sue me) with a more frantic 'my phone! my phone is ringing!' He then proceeded to answer this imaginary phone, apparently it was Granddad.  I'll be having words with Granddad he should know better then to phone at meal times. tsk tsk.

However, not entirely finished with administering us our daily toddler funnies, he decides he's finished his dinner, gets himself out of his high chair (yes, really) and brazenly goes to stand on The Husbands chair (seeing as The Husband is having 40 winks, yes I did say winks not wanks, in bed) and rummages around in the corner of doom finding a small mirror on a keyring.  Guess what he does next, no seriously, I'd like you to guess.  

He pulls down his pj's and his underpants and using the mirror starts to scrutinise his willy 'My winky....hmmm....mmmm.....My winky okay' then follows this with holding the mirror behind him 'My bum, hmm, my bum okay too' Terribly glad they're both okay and passed his somewhat detailed inspection.  What a novel way of trying to make his family choke to death with laughter at the table.  

I bet you never guessed it. You see the people I have to live with?  Is it any wonder I need prozac?

I suppose I really ought to tear myself away from the laptop seeing as Things 1&2 are outside playing in the ice that is cunningly disguised as snow and The Toddler has commandeered my phone and is frighteningly proficient at navigating himself around it.  Bugger, Thing Two has come in, exactly ten minutes after going out because she's in her words, frozen. No shit Sherlock.  It's not like I didn't tell them it would be bloody cold.

The Toddler

Because it's been a while and they're so small for such a remarkably heart breaking short amount of time within which they undergo so many changes and really do light up our days, I figured it was about time for another post dedicated to him.

I suppose technically he's The Preschooler now what with him turning three, yes three, next month.  Excuse me whilst I weep.  No really.  Seeing as The Husband is most clear in his 'No more babies' line, The Toddler is my last beloved little person and I find the dramatic pace at which he's growing up terribly alarming whilst my womb positively wails 'please sir, can we have some more?'

Next month he will be three.  So far we've been breastfeeding for 35 months.  He's not worn any kind of nappy for around seven months now (he pee's at the toilet, standing on his tippee toes!, In an absurd way it's incredibly cute).  He still doesn't sleep through.  We still co-sleep.  He talks more and more every day, we understand about 75% of it, he often has to resort to charades to enlighten us with his insights and demands.  He is undeniably friendly and incredibly polite, not a door opened for us goes without him chirping 'thank-you!' He has a rather extensive and amusing amount of quirky idiosyncrasies already.  He genuinely is a beautiful, charming, funny, sarcastic little sunbeam.

A few toddlerisms from him lately:

Whilst we were out and about and he was as usual in the Wompat on my back, we could hear the noisy chorus of birds around us to which he repeatedly shouted with increasing irritation 'SHUT UP TWEET TWEETS! SHUT UP!'

The day before this whilst once again high up on my back in the sling we caught him trying to physically reach up and pluck an aeroplane from the sky.  Bless.

Just last night, at bedtime, The Husband was lovingly trying to read another book to him when The Toddler shut it half way and declared 'The End' followed by 'Get bent **** (He still refuses to call him Daddy/Dad and insists on always calling The Husband by his first name.  He's always done this) Go away.' Charming!

He is still insistent on foraging for his own food and frequently raids the cupboards and even drags his little stool in the kitchen on the sly so he can raid the fridge which often results in me finding little gems like this in the fridge.....

Whilst chatting about his upcoming birthday:

Me to h: 'what do you want for your birthday?'
The Toddler: 'Robot!'
Me: 'anything else?'The Toddler: 'Chocolate cake!!!!'Me: 'anything else?'The Toddler: 'Doughnuts!'Me: 'okay, anything else?'The Toddler: 'A cow.'[pause]The Toddler: 'and a clipclop!!!'Okay, that's that sorted then.....

He still adores dressing up, twirling in tutu's, rolling his eyes at you in complete disdain and attempting to control Things 1 & 2.  He frequently calls out for 'elf rescue!' and is fabulous at fighting The Husband should he dare to bug me.

Best go, he's just tried to cover up his intrusion on Things 1& 2 upstairs with a rather sweet 'Goodbye my friends! My best friends!' as he zooms down the stairs at 80mph on his arse.

White Rabbit.

A pinch, a punch, first day of the month.

How is it June already?  June is a busy month of dates featuring Father's day, my dad's birthday, the 12 year anniversary of the first date I had with The Husband and also our 8 year wedding anniversary not to mention the slightly more morbid anniversary of  The Miscarriage.

So day one of Half Term is nearly over and what do you know, we've actually survived it.  Crikey.

The Toddler is somewhat disgruntled that his space is being invaded by Thing One and Thing Two, he understands they go to school yet I think the fact they have holidays is beyond him and in his mind entering the realm of the absurdly unfair. 

Today has been one of those days with not much to say nor do as it simply dripped by in drabs.

The Toddler has decided lately that he at nap time he simply must remove his socks,  I haven't the foggiest what that's about.  A toddlers mind is a complex place.

He's already decided I am merely parts and not a whole as whilst packing the boulders back into the scaffolding (aka bra) he chirped up 'Bye Bye Meemee's, love you' Meemee's being his word for boobies.
 
Talking of scaffolding, due to going down in back size again I decided I'd trial wearing real bras instead of nursing bras, you know...pretty things with underwire.  I figure they're big enough and droopy enough to wop out over the top 68565858 times a day, however, having tried two different sizes now I am at a total loss as to what cup size I am and what was an exciting uplifting prospect of new underwear is now a total disheartening ball ache that has made me decide to send them all back and stick with the godawful nursing bras that are slightly too big and revisit the situation should I ever manage to shift this extra stone I've been meaning to lose yet failing at abysmally.  So now I feel like a fat frumpy failure, for a change.  It's been over 8 years since I had pretty, shapely decent underwear.  I miss my old draw of gossard loveliness.

I won't even start on today's latest hair fail....

Do you ever feel that everything you attempt just goes wrong? No matter how you try to improve your confidence you can't quite get there, underwear fail, weight loss fail, clothes fail, shoe fail and hair fail. 

...where's the chocolate? ...

Toddlerisms.

The Toddler is delightful in so many ways, the little everyday ways like how when he burps he points to his mouth and says 'burp' with a grin and how whenever he see's a car parked or stopping at lights he points and says 'stuck! bruuuuuuuum stuck!' bless.