Parenting

Monday, 22 July 2013

Vom

At some point, roughly 20 minutes into hairdrying FiFi the soft doll (who had earlier been puked on) I laughed. This is just not something I realised I would be doing with my life. Especially more than once.And all of a sudden it was hilarious.
Fifi is the perfect size to fit into the crook of a toddler arm, and therefore she NEVER leaves the toddler arm. Sometimes she is briefly forgotten, but then she is remembered in a wave of panic and yelling. WE NEED FIFI.

FiFi is the 4th person at dinner. She tests most experiences for the child. FiFi go down slide! FiFi go on swing! Ahh swing safe.

FiFi must be in crook of arm while we are reading books. FiFi sits on the edge of the table "watching" while we are cooking. She always wants one of whatever we make.
FiFi sure is fucking annoying sometimes. She sneaks into all photos of my cute cherub and has taken over the role of the dummy in photos, you know, that embarassing thing that shows up in photos and proves what a shit parent you really are.

See, FiFi is a mucky little tart. Even though I am forced to "surface wash" her most days, and sometimes sneak her off for an illegal machine wash ("FiFi has just popped to the shops, don't worry!") she still manages to get covered in shit, all the time.
I guess she gets hugged all night, rubbed with sweat and dribble... And then she can't always get everything in her mouth at brekkie... then she soaks up the footprints on the slide... and flies into the grass when for a split second the princess thinks she doesn't love her, maybe she said something a bit off? Like "You should be out of nappies by now FatArse" or something...

And then spaghetti in tomato sauce can be a really tricky thing to eat when your limbs are stuffed with wadding and someone has a tight grip around your chest.
Taking a dip in the paddling pool can play havoc with your innards and colours, and even though it's really funny when the cat bites your head or crotch, it can really take its toll on your outfit, you know?

So when you think you've got it easy, chilling in the car seat with the girl, gliding through the Italian countryside, feeling sleepy, it's a bit of a shock to suddenly feel warm prune-y vomit hitting your soft little carcass and soaking into all of your seams.
(I'm sensing a slight double meaning here, with my life)

So yeah, I'm not sure if I've confused myself with FiFi there, but hey, we live pretty similar existences, at the beck and call of a small dictator.
But I feel a little bit like FiFi has won in the favouritism stakes, when I am standing for hours on end, washing and then hairdrying the little fucker so that she, FiFi, can go to sleep.

No comments:

Post a Comment