I’m sad to admit defeat – the prospect of a Toddler Tantrum has lowered any expectation I ever have of getting through any ‘To-Do’ lists I now write.
How is it that you can experience such intense feelings of love for such a small person, which are then counter balanced with intense feelings of frustration??
This post is not too dissimilar to Fenwicks-Window-Gate (read more here).
I’ve come to realise that this is why I’ve stopped making so many plans.
So many to-do lists.
I once was (I’d like to think) a super organised person.
Now I’m a forgetful frisson whose idea of organised is that everyone has been fed and watered.
The old me would have scoffed at such an achievement.
I’m a person who is immensely satisfied when items are ticked off a list as done.
So as that infrequently happens nowadays, I’ve actually stopped making lists.
Stopped expecting to get shit done in my life.
I was setting myself up for a fall otherwise.
You can’t be disappointed if you haven’t raised an expectation.
But on Saturday, I had some shit to get done.
I had items I needed to buy for a relative’s big birthday and items for a night in at my friend’s house.
These aren’t huge things to accomplish but throw in the mix taking a Toddler to get her feet measured and a lunch outing as the three of us, I really was expecting too much.
I was like ‘let’s all go for lunch, get Ella’s feet getting measured and buy all the bits and bobs on my list.’
We left our house on that utter dreary drizzle of a day. The weather alone set the tone.
The car tootled along through the pools of surface water to a lovely local town called Morpeth, whereby three-quarters into the journey Ella promptly passed out.
Any of you who watch my Insta Stories know my relationship with Car Nap. It started summer 2017 and has continued into 2018. I’d rather sit in a car with a napping child than tend to the beast if one should dare rouse her early.
So the first fifty minutes of our three-hour parking limit was spent sat in the car at Morpeth Leisure Centre.
The weather was too awful to go for a ‘lovely drive’ to nowhere and our lives weren’t worth living if we woke her too early.
Once the small person who dominates our lives woke up, her royal Highness was in a bit of a post nap fettle.
Just what you feckin want when you’re about to go for lunch.
May as well have just woken her up when we arrived.
We trooped (I carried) a whingey child, who refused to have her hood up in the rain, into Weatherspoons.
We sat by a lovely fire, which would have been relaxing had we not had a toddler in tow.
The crayons and colouring in did not distract her. The other toddlers on the nearby tables did and they seemed to all be in co-hoots, copying each others screeches to see who could be the loudest.
The arrival of food only briefly took her interest. Before she remembered she was in public and now was the time to act up.
I’ve become the parent I swore I would never be.
I stuck Mickey Mouse on You Tube on my phone and slid it across to her, while still scoffing on my noodles.
Technology is the future right?
I’m just giving her an educational head start?
One day she may be in a job that heavily relies on a mobile??
Who am I kidding. The digital nanny is the only way we get to eat in public at times.
Cue trying to leave and a tantrum is thrown. Who knew the simple act of putting a coat on is classed as torture by a toddler?
A swift exit ensued and we stomped to the shoe shop.
Where, fair play to her, she sat very still as she had her feet measured. I almost went from harassed mam to gushingly proud mam.
But obviously that doesn’t last long.
As the young lad is merrily strapping away at her feet, she burps in his face.
She’s proud of herself.
The Man is pretending to browse the shoes on the racks.
And the poor sales assistant tries his best to smile it off.
I try to distract from the fact my child has just expelled gas in another human’s face and point to a pair of shoes I spied.
He scurries off to find her size while I start putting her shoes back on.
She did NOT want her shoes back on.
In Toddler Land this is obviously a valid excuse for a meltdown so cue another episode of ‘no no NOOOOO’ while thrashing about with every limb, red-faced.
And that was just me.
The sales assistant returns without her size. To be fair, her feet haven’t actually grown and by now I’m too stressed to consider panic-buying another pair.
By this point she’s whinging so loudly I just scoop her up, throw lots of verbal apologies and thanks at the sales assistant and hurry out of the shop.
Like Fenwicks-window-gate, we didn’t have a pushchair. It would’ve been too much of a battle getting her in and out. More fool us though as she wanted to be carried everywhere.
And I just wanted to go home.
So we did.
Minus me doing any of my jobs.
I’ve learnt to inhale deeply through the dissatisfaction.
A couple of hours respite at home (where the angel mysteriously replaces the devil) and The Man offers to take her to softplay.
So I can get my shit done.
Which I did.
In utter peace.
Slowly perusing shops.
Soaking in the bizarre sense of loneliness I’d craved all day.
And the ability to concentrate on one task at a time.
Once I’d recharged my batteries I headed to join the two-thirds of our wolfpack at the softplay.
And found my sense of humour and fun had been restored enough to go down a mahoosive bouncey slide.
I no longer get shit done. But I’m learning to not give a shit.
Love Missuswolf xxx
Photo Credit: Patrick Fore – Unsplash
Video: My own