This week's ranty whine is dedicated to Mummy's Little Boy - Mstr3.
He's so freaking lucky he is Mummy's Little Boy, because I would've given him away this week if it weren't for the gorgeous blue eyes and the one single dimple, and the 30 second cuddles before bed that totally wipe out the screaming tantrums and disobedience of the whole day.
First up, swimming lessons.
Walked into a changing room full of other mothers and children. As the noise dissipates to a very dull roar, Mstr3 is standing in the middle of the room jumping and singing to himself in quite the cute manner. Old ladies were smiling. Kids were giggling. Any illusions of cuteness were blown out of the water when I asked him to come to me so I could take his off his wet bathers.
FUCK OFF! AHAHAHAHA!
Oh no he didn't.
(But yes, he did).
All eyes on me, so I did the right thing and told him how naughty that was, and feigned shock as if I'd never heard him say such a thing before in my life. I even asked him where he'd heard such an awful thing - you know, because I am clearly the epitome of good parenting and therefore such disgusting words could never have come out of my mouth.
(Just play along and pretend that you're one of the people in the change room who haven't seen me before and don't know any better.)
YOU MUMMY. YOU SAID IT TO DADDY. AHAHAHAHA!
Little mini mofo. FFS.
Clearly my efforts to curb my swearing aren't going too well. FFS.
The Twin Tornado have been suffering the sniffles. Mstr3 in particular coughs at night and keeps waking me up. I go rushing in to check on him but he's still asleep. I am the only one awake. FFS.
#1Hubby plays dead so I have to be the one to go rushing in every single time that happens. So I donned a pair of ear plugs the other night and firmly told #1Hubby that he was getting up to the twins for the night. He still slept through it. So did I. So did they. He thinks it's all in my head. So do they, probably. FFS.
Mstr3 is refusing to eat dinner this week, just for something different. I have begged, threatened, bargained, tantrummed - all to no avail. He will happily sit with the same mouthful of food, chewing away for a good 12 minutes, until I totally lose my shit and he spits it all out at me while laughing hysterically. FFS.
He whines because he's hungry within 10 minutes of my meltdown signalling the end of dinner. FFS.
#1Hubby chastises me for losing my shit and steps in to take over - this is the first time he's even been aware of the situation, as he's been glued to the TV. He lasts all of 20 seconds before losing his shit, and then it's back to me again. FFS.
|Macca's soft serve he'd eat until he exploded. FFS.|
I am going to start taking broccoli in with me when I get up at night to the sound of his coughing. I will chew it up until it's mushy and sit and wait for his next cough, and then shoot it down his throat with a straw while his mouth is open. FFS.
After typing that, I realise that I may have to actually consider doing it for reals. FFS.