The Pushover

My little boy, who turns two tomorrow, began the Terrible Twos about a month ago. Oh the joy. Dubz sobs and squirms if he has to stay in the car longer than 30 minutes. He shrieks and stands, trying to escape from the buggy/stroller if he runs out of food during walks. He cries and convulses when I wake him up from his nap early to go pick up his big sister from school.  If you are unable to guess his invented baby sign language for which song he wants you to sing, oh God help you. And if you cut up his food or  give him a broken cracker, you may as well kill yourself as you don’t deserve to live.

So, how am I dealing with all of this, you may be asking? Am I being tough and showing him who’s the boss? No. Not. At. All. I am catering to his every whim. When he shrieks, I cower. When he demands, I give in. When he cries, my heart melts. Because though he is terrible, he is my baby. And I am not quite ready for him to stop being a baby.

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If you enjoyed this, and my other posts, please vote for me in the Fresh Voice category for the Brilliance in Blogging awards (Bibs). Although I am completely honoured to even have been short-listed, I would love to be a finalist. It means that the next time Husband complains that I am spending too much time blogging, I can tell him to stick it. 😉

Bad Mummy, Lazy Mummy

Hello. I’m Californian Mum, and I’m a bad mummy. I haven’t always been so bad. I used to be really fun. Then I got tired. Real tired. When you have one child, you have so much energy to go to lots of classes and playgroups. But then you have two and you’re so busy. And did I mention tired?

Moozles is in Year One, so Dubz and I have plenty of alone time to do fun activities. But there is no Monkey Music or Diddi Dance. Dubz turns 22-months old today, and he has never even been swimming. We’ve done a few tasters of various classes, but they never seem to fit into our schedule. We have recently begun attending a weekly Friday playgroup. 

We hang out at home; Dubz raises havoc in the living, he potters in the garden or bounces on the trampoline. We go grocery shopping. Once or twice a week we either go to a fellow mum’s house or they come over to our house for coffee (tea in my case) and biscuits. 

I should probably feel guilty that Dubz doesn’t get to do more fun activities. But I’m not. After all, I let him eat lunch whilst watching Cbeebies. His sister wasn’t allowed to eat in front of the telly before the age of three. So that’s something. 




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