A mother's guilt

As I prepare to take my first non-work related, non-wedding related trip away from Millie, I am filled with a deep sense of guilt.

I had to go on the other jaunts so they were somewhat immune from my guilty conscience. However, the only reason I have for sodding off to Paris with the girls for two nights is sheer indulgence. As a mother, I didn't think that was allowed anymore? To make matters worse, it is almost as if Millie has cottoned on to this fact.

These days my daughter goes straight off to sleep as soon as I put her down for a nap, or for the night  (believe me it wasn't always thus). When I leave for work, she waves me off with a cheery 'bye bye!' and a cursory wave of the hand. However, with the whiff of my impending departure hanging in the air, the rule book has been thrown unceremoniously out of the window.

Mim is grumbly, Mim is refusing to sleep anywhere but on me, Mim is generally being clingy.  I would assume she was sickening for something, except she's literally just had a cold. I know, I've now got it. That's where we come on to my next sod's law moment. It would appear that my health and wellbeing is in cahoots with my daughter as far as making sure this trip is one tinged with distress.

I am now suffering a full blown cold, shivers, nose about to explode, hacking cough... you get the picture. So as I frantically down lemsips, try to put a clingy Mim down to sleep, start my packing, batch cook, leave out ironed clothes and find time to get some freaking France money I find myself thinking 'HELL'S TEETH I NEED A HOLIDAY!' Oh wait...

NB. Dear Family and friends,
If I haven't returned by Sunday lunchtime ask the Gendarmerie to search for a frazzled looking women in her mid-thirties, collapsed somewhere off the Pont Neuf in a macaroon-induced diabetic coma.
   

The monkey is dead. Long live the monkey

Sad news has come to pass on the house of Millie. Shortly after my last post I was summoned to Millie's room by the sound of her hacking cough.

Mim had been suffering from the latest nursery cold, so I'd grown accustomed to the snuffles and coughs. This, however, sounded somewhat more vigorous. I was right. By the time I had reached the top of the stairs my little bird had coughed so hard she'd thrown up... all over her beloved monkey.

Now Monkey, as you know, has become the love of Millie's life. She shouts for him obsessively in the style of a miniature Johnny Vegas. But monkey is of the microvable heat-up kind, the kind that cannot be put in the washing machine. OH GOD!

So... having chased an inconsolable, puke-smeared Mim around her room by night light, I finally managed get her cleaned up, her bed changed, and get her back off to sleep. Then the fun began.

I had managed to extract monkey by stealth and had now commenced the pain-staking operation of picking at his matted, rancid fur like a nit-picking mummy monkey. I then proceeded to sponge clean the little dude with Comfort and hung him up to dry.

Morning came. Monkey was clean, monkey was dry, but monkey stank to high heaven and his tummy had taken on a most peculiar tinge of brown. Monkey had to go.

R.I.P. monkey

Having disposed of the putrid primate, I hotfooted it to Dunelm Mill to procure a replacement. Please God! Please God! 

As we sped into the shop I was overjoyed to find not one, but two monkeys still sitting on the shelf! Then I noticed that there were many more dogs and cows to be had and attempted to interest her in one of those. At least that way I'd have an endless reserve to fall back on in moments of crisis, of which I'm sure there would be many more. Mim looked at me like the fool I so clearly was and I crumbled. I promptly snatched up the two remaining monkeys and thrust them both towards her beaming chops.

While I'm sure this attachment object business will come to pass in due course, in the interim I urge any of you, next time you're passing a Dunelm Mill, to fetch up a microwavable monkey or two and know that you will one day be my saviour!



Left: Monkey.
Right: Stunt monkey (now safely tucked away in reserve)



Monkey swag

Monkey is invited
to join Mim for  a
celebratory lunch




 

In the blink of an eye...

 Millie with her friend
Aidan in the early weeks 

I like babies, especially the teeny ones. You know, the type of babies that like lots of cuddles and require your undivided attention. So, as you can imagine, I revelled in the early days of motherhood, sleepless nights notwithstanding.

Millie and Aidan one year on

While the good husband and several of my new Mum friends were eagerly awaiting the early baby days to pass so they could enjoy the more interactive ‘doing stuff’ stage, I made the most of being the centre of Millie’s universe. So, it was with some considerable upset that I acknowledged my little bird had turned, seemingly overnight, into a toddler who most certainly knows her own mind and isn’t afraid to let you know it.

However, I didn’t grieve for long. The milky, hazy, baby days may have gone but so too has the frumpy clothing and matchsticks in the eyes (see above right). In its place I have been delighted to find that I now have a plethora of tremendous toddler fun to enjoy. With every passing day, my tiny marauder seems to add something new to her arsenal.


This week, I have especially enjoyed the following:

1.      Teasing. Mim brings forth one of her prized possessions, waits for me to try and take it, then cackles with glee as she scuttles away in the opposite direction (repeated several times in rapid succession for maximum hilarity). Minx.

2.     Monkey. This week, cuddly monkey has enjoyed buggy rides, been fed dinner and had a vigorous go on the swings, roundabout and slide at the local park. Her face lights up brighter than Vegas when she sees the little dude. It’s not a stretch to say that if monkey could bring her food he would usurp me entirely in her affections. He NEVER leaves her side.

3.      Theft. She steals my breakfast with absolutely no subtlety whatsoever. This was rendered slightly less humorous when she rather over zealously tried to grab my spoon with the inevitable result that I ended up wearing the contents of the bowl. Mim, incidentally, did not spill one drop on herself.

4.       Dancing. It never stops. See dance-along-a sound of music.

5.      Family. Freddie, Billy and Biddabell – she asks for her cousins on repeat. The day usually starts with a round of their names and a kiss for her picture of Bidabell. This week she stopped in her tracks in front of a poster of a little girl that shared a passing resemblance and pointed at it, shouting ‘Bidabell!’ rather excitedly at the top of her lungs. She’s even asked for her in her sleep. As for Freddie and Billy, there is nothing more heartwarming than watching them all play together. Well, for about five minutes until they start battling each other over sharing stuff.

As for my love of teeny babies? Well, as soon as the novelty of drinking wine again has worn off I’ll go and fetch the good husband from the cellar!

Underground, overground, Mimbling free

It's finally happened. The good husband is leaving me. For a man... Kurt Cobain to be exact.

For those of you who know my beloved well, you will know that his obsession with Kurt knows no bounds. It's second only to his love of food. And that's a BIG love.

After a visit to see our friends Willem, Sara and Mr.Black (small jack russell with a lot of moxie if you were wondering), Mik struck upon an idea. You see, Willem and Sara have a new house and this house has a special room just for Willem. It is a glorious loft den full of music and guitars and thoughts of single malt. I could literally see the cogs of Mik's brain beginning to turn.

Fast forward a week and 'project cellar' is in full swing.   This weekend Mik has been clearing boxes and rummaging around among the spiders to unearth his old Nirvana memorabilia. Took a while. I'd hidden it well.

So, now his very own Daddy sanctuary is complete. The mini fridge will be installed before long and I will never see him again. Alas, I'll still be able to hear him - the electric guitar has moved down there with him. I give it about a month before my brother has pitched up with his drums.

Somewhere, amidst all of this underground activity, there was still time for some serious overground marauding and we managed to squeeze in:

• the park
• the swimming baths
• the park
• a Beatles dance-athon
• finger drums
• some quiet reading (praise be!) 
• and the park... again (Note to self: future blog topic on the highs and lows of Trafford and South Manchester parks).

All of which was kicked off in a typically boisterous start to the day.

The Mimbling knows no bounds.