The terrible twos… three months early.

The boy is entering a new phase. One that I hope will be over soon. Our once angelic, blue eyed, golden haired boy has changed to a blue eyed, golden haired tantrum machine. His brand new today thing is to shout ‘ow!’ When you try to move him/strap him into his car seat/ put his shoes on.

To the passer-by it looks as if this poor boy is being mistreated by his witch of a mother. To me (and others experiencing a similar phase) It’s the reason why we drink. Toddlers don’t care how loud they scream or how many people are around when they do it. To be perfectly honest I don’t care that much either but why do they insist on being at their worst with an audience? When I’m trying to get us home and he point blank refuses to get in the car:

‘Come on William, get in the car.’

‘We’re going home to see Daddy and the pussy cats.’

‘Come on in you get!’

*Resist urge to shout GET IN THE FUCKING CAR WILLIAM!!! Go to take his hand to lead him in*

He pulls away crouches in the street screaming. I pick him up to put him in the car, he arches his back screaming ‘No no no!’ Get him into car, try and get him in car seat he starts planking, try to bend child so I can get his seatbelt on. Child. Won’t. Bend. Wonder when my child was replaced by steel girder. Child become less plank like as occupied with hitting Mummy. Use window of flexibility to click in seatbelt. Say in calmest voice can muster ‘We don’t smack’, tighten seatbelt to ensure child safe. Child starts shouting ‘Ow! Ow! Owww!!’

Try and placate child with favourite toy.

Child throws favourite toy.

Clamber out and climb into drivers seat with toddler wailing in the back.

Ignore glares from passers by. Drive off with child still wailing.

Question life choices.

Every time we’ve got in the car today.

Every.

Time.

He’s also doing the fun thing of wanting something (food, toy, seat) then instantly changing his mind when he gets it. This causes a tantrum. We are at the mercy of the whim of a toddler. If you need me, I’ll be hiding in the summerhouse drinking wine.

In other news:

Writing this post was interrupted when the boy broke his ‘splat mat’ the one that only yesterday I insisted to friends was ‘very strong’. The boy thought pouring the water that was in it onto the carpet was lots of fun. I grabbed it off him, chucked it in the sink then started mopping up the puddle on the living room carpet. Whilst I was clearing up, the boy pulled the splat mat out of the sink and started pouring the water on the kitchen floor. Spinning round to ensure full cupboard coverage too. I got mad, he laughed at me.

Captain has been trying to catch bees in the garden. It’s obviously been a while since we’ve had an expensive vet bill.

My two year old niece (for reasons unknown) did a poo in her back garden today.

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The witching hour.

Wills is in bed, his chunky form has been securely zipped into his sleeping bag, he has been lowered gently and silently into his cot, his tiny chest rising and falling with each sleepy breath, floppy rabbit placed near him, a comfort should he wake. Peace.

Until the shitbagging cat marched in for an impromptu, (full volume), miaow-a-thon. At least Wills was delighted to be woken and find a cat in his room. Mummy was decidedly less impressed. Thankfully he was two feet into the land of nod and settled quickly. I now find myself in the witching hour, the time the house takes on a silence it never seemed to have before Wills. The time when I try to cram in resting/catching up on hobbies/ self maintenance/drinking wine.

As hubs is out enjoying himself at a beer festival I decided to cook myself a Chinese, thank you, Mr Gok Wan. I can’t tell you how much I’d rather have ordered one but I’m yet to find a nice one close by and just ordering for one doesn’t qualify for delivery and picking it up is not really an option with a baby. So far I have managed to burn the rice, something I seem to do with alarming regularity at the moment. But I did buy a huge bag of prawn crackers so I won’t starve.

I did intend to sit in my clean and tidy living room and enjoy an evening by myself but after an earlier emotional crisis and a couple of hours spent sulking in bed I’ve managed to hoover. That’s it. The sofa is covered in ironing, the carpet in biscuit. Wills’ toys remain scattered about and the draining board is stacked with washing up. Luckily I’m too exhausted to care, I’m sat on the floor, the cat on the sofa (he’s in my spot).

So it’s ten to nine, I’m sat on the carpet drinking wine, in a messy house, starving but thoroughly enjoying my witching hour!

In other news:

The boy crawled today, it turns out Captain was all the motivation he needed.

Hubs has assembled a work bench today, he now feel like a fully fledged dad.

Wills noisy habit of blowing raspberries for hours on end has returned with a vengeance.