What I’m about to tell you, I sincerely wish I’d made up! How how how can I be so unfortunate?! Read on…
It started at 6:42am, when Blake threw up the majority of his morning feed all over me. This keeps happening at the moment and I’m not sure why. My initial maternal reaction is one of complete concern and compassion and so I wipe him down, nurture him and hold him close, soothing him and telling him it’s going to be fine. But then the waft of the regurgitated sour stomach acid and boobie juice cocktail fills my nose, and the next thing I know I’m battling stripping bedsheets whilst grabbing any limb I can off the crawling baby scurrying away whilst trying not to empty the contents of my own stomach into the pungent stench that now fills my room.
Breakfast was a nightmare. Due to our Baby Led Weaning adventures, Blake’s highchair had started to reek so I spent the whole of Thursday evening scrubbing it to within an inch of it’s life. I had spent my whole evening on a Tramp’s treasure hunt; discovering months of discarded and hidden food bits in the folds of the chair fabric. In my hazy almost delirious Dettol induced scrubbing session I’d omitted to reading the care instructions on the high chair and ignored the fact it said ‘Wipe with a damp cloth only’. I chucked it in the washing machine and upon the cycle finishing I’d caused a mini flood in Chez Ray as the fabric must’ve soaked up about 20 litres of water! So, why am I telling you this? Well, the damn thing is STILL drying on the line so Blake is sitting in the plastic shell of his high chair, minus straps. It means he has to be watched at all times otherwise he makes a suicidal dive for the floor as soon as you’re not looking. The puppy took major advantage of my averted gaze and decided to relieve himself right in front of me as if to say “Deal with that Biatch!”. So whilst I proceeded to help Blake self feed himself messy museli (throwing most of it on my only clean dressing gown, the other one was full of vomit from the morning feed fiasco) and ignore the dog pee, the smoke alarm went off! I’d left my toast in too long. So, with museli encrusted fingers I tried to turn it off. Upon walking back in the front room, Blake was attempting his first expedition at height by climbing out the top of his highchair. In my panic to get to him quickly, I stood in the dog pee which serves me right for not cleaning it earlier.
By this point I was close to tears. Blake had done his usual of ‘laying a cable’ straight after his food so I attempted to change his nappy. If you’re reading this and you’ve got kids over the age of 6 months then you’ll sympathise with The Worm. The Worm is what your kid turns into the moment you try and change their nappy once they can roll over. They squirm, and squeal and look like their neck will snap as they desperately attempt to get away from you and act like the Pampers you’re frantically waving in your hand is about to kill them and they must get away in order to survive. Blake screamed so loud at me I decided to just wipe him as best as I could and let him go nappy-less whilst I attempted to disinfect the floor of dog pee and porridge. I really wasn’t prepared for just how hard life would be with a crawling baby. I’m throwing dog toys out of reach under the sofa so Blake can’t eat them. I’m chucking baby toys high on the sofa so the dog can’t digest them. I’m wiping the floor with one hand whilst taking my mobile out of Blake’s mouth for the 100th time with the other. The dog’s going mental trying to dig his way under the sofa to get the toys, then he’s trying to eat the kitchen roll I’m using to wipe up his pee. Finally, it looked like calm was about to be restored. But oh no! Please dog no! Bailey the crazy Labradoodle puppy has jumped up and stolen the dirty nappy and is frantically pulling and gnawing to get into it. I try and grab it off him but the fasteners pull apart and the digestive remnants of Blake’s breakfast, lunch and dinners falls on the floor and Bailey takes it in one quick scoop and swallows it whole faster than you can say “Bum Nugget!”. This is the point at which I grabbed my phone and so the documenting of said hellish day begins.
I force feed Bailey the dog some water and attempt to clean his teeth but to no avail and run after him with Huggies Pure babywipes to get at the little specks of baby crap adorning his nose, whiskers and chin. I’m doing all of this with a naked-from-the-waist-down baby on my hip and am in agony (I’ve hurt my hamstring on my recent running escapades in my attempt to shed some much needed poundage-fat cow that I am). I’m at the end of my tether so resort to chucking him outside (the dog, not the baby) and this time I haven’t got the energy to tell him off for eating Shaun’s prized tree ferns and figure chewing down on the overpriced scruffy bush might provide a bit of natural teeth cleaning and dog breath freshening.
So, I set down Blake at one end of the living room and make a start at cleaning up our Breakfast mess. I turn my back for literally a second whilst I get a knife and gently scrape at the now completely encrusted porridge all over his highchair, taking care not to scratch it’s newly cleaned surfaces – with the sensitivity and touch of Tony Robinson on Time Team. As I turn round, he’s unravelled pretty much a full kitchen roll and is about to poison himself with the 12th bottle of Pets At Home Microbial Pet Stain and Odour remover that we’ve purchased in recent weeks. I grab him, chuck him to the other side of the room and he’s now pulling himself up on his highchair like he’s on a climbing wall, training for an expedition to Everest!
I move him back on the rug and next thing he’s not only pulled himself up on the coffee table (the same expensive uneccessary coffee table we were practically tortured to buy by the DFS psychotic nutter we bought our sofa from and so I hate it with a passion) but he’s gone and relieved himself on it.
All whilst flashing his 5.5 pearly new nashers at me with a smile that says “Check me out Mummy!”. The smile melts my heart. The piss is about to send me over the edge.
I wipe up his mess and go to put the kitchen roll in the bin, unfortunately letting Bailey out of the kitchen, where’s he’s set up camp, in the process. I decide to take Blake upstairs to change him away from the hyperactive dog. I take off my second soiled dressing gown, put on my only clean pair of jeans and a tshirt and attempt to finally get this nappy on my boy. Once again he turns into The Worm. I’m getting so frustrated with him wriggling everywhere and screaming that I pick him up to calm him down. Bad move. He spews everywhere AND pees all over my jeans.
Too many things have now happened to get any more upset, stressed or angry so I just laugh and decide that my boy is getting a bath – right there and then! Yes, it’s 12:15 but he’s full of puke and pee so he is getting a wash. All seems calm. I treat Blake to a relaxing massage after his bath and he allows me to put his nappy on with minimal fuss! Result! I’m feeling annoyed that half of my day has been taken up with pee, puke and porridge but smug that it’s all now looking OK and it’s time to start Blake’s lunch.
With Blake once again on my hip, putting pressure on my already sore hamstring, I set up the steamer and wash, peel and chop carrots, green beans, sweet potato, peas and sweetcorn. A sharp instrument, with one hand, is somewhat challenging. Especially with a hip-balanced baby making a demented nose dive for the carving knife every 30 seconds. I boil the kettle, put the veg in the steamer, turn on the hob and wait for the water to boil to start Blake’s next mealtime. Next thing Bailey comes in with an empty kitchen roll holder in his mouth. “Surely I didn’t use the whole roll?” I think to myself then start to chase the little golden scamp back to the scene of his latest crime.
Imagine my horror upon entering my front room…
In my Blake peeing fiasco stress, I completely forgot that the kitchen roll I’d been using to clean the mess was in reach of Bailey. The little bastard.
This was the moment I cried. And sobbed. And had a little bit of snot come out as I did. Then just to top off the day, the smoke alarm went off AGAIN! I’d not hung around long enough to put the freshly boiled water in the pan and my kitchen was now resembling your typical small nightclub – pre smoking ban – as I wafted the smoke filled air with a tea towel and inspected the damage I’d caused…
But then, it seemed like he sensed the mood as Blake said “Mama” properly for the first time, touched my cheek then leaned in for a big fat sloppy kiss. I can always count on my little Ginger Prince to bring me back to reality with a big fat dose of love, pride and hilarity.
So, if you’ve read this far you’re either skiving or unemployed or pregnant (Lani!) and I sincerely thank you! Sometimes, you know, you just have to rant. When you live in a world where you go hours and hours without speaking to another human being, it’s nice to come on here and type with such force that you feel like your fingers will go through the keyboard. I’ve found it’s the best way to relieve my Mummy stress. If it wasn’t for still breastfeeding, I think I might be an alcoholic or a crack addict by now. Just kidding! Don’t ring the social services just yet though, will you?!
Ta! To tomorrow… which will hopefully be a much better day…