Mother and Father never ask me for any advice (they really should; their ineptitude is breathtaking at times) but if they ever did, I would share with them these top tips for parenting me. You may find them useful….
- Take your scratch mitts and throw them in the bin. There’s nothing I like better than a good, satisfying scratch. But, the second my finger gets within striking distance of an itch, Mother or Father is on the scene with a scratch mitt aka hand prison. I don’t see why they can have a good old scratch whenever they feel like it and I can’t. I often see Father rummaging around his ear and no-one ever encases his hands in gloves.
- Nappy malfunctions are not my fault. I’m not the one who puts my nappies on me so if Mother or Father end up covered in something unpleasant then that is entirely their fault. And there is no point looking at me with that disappointing glimmer in their eyes as if I am somehow to blame.
- My toilet habits do not need a running commentary. My parents’ chatter is generally rather inane but when it comes to describing my nappy contents, they become creative masters of language. Colour, texture, quantity and frequency are all described in great detail, even to strangers. It is unbelievably rude. How would they like it if I accompanied them to the lavatory and narrated their movements?
- When I need milk, I need milk. No, you don’t have time to make a cup of tea. Or finish your sandwich. Or breathe really. I need milk and I need it NOW.
- I do not need to be dressed up like a fool. My parents seem to think that any special occasion gives them license to dress me up like a fool. There were the angel wings attached to me for Valentine’s Day when Mother thought I would make a ‘cute cupid’….and don’t even get me started on Easter. I don’t see Father going to work in a giant bunny suit so why should I have to wear one? No, get rid of my stupid costumes and stick me in a lovely Babygro.
- It doesn’t matter how many toys you throw in the bath, it’s still a bath. I despise baths. I hate being wet and I hate being cold. Yet Mother and Father seem to think that my intense dislike can be minimised by the addition of a few tatty ducks and some ‘splish, splosh’ sounds. It can’t.
- It doesn’t matter that it’s 7.30 on a Friday night and you want a glass of wine. I keep my own schedule. Often my parents will whine to me ‘c’mon darling, bedtime, Mummy wants a drink.’ I appreciate you may have plans but I am afraid I cannot always accommodate these. (Funnily enough, I find that I am livelier on the occasions when my parents are desperate for me to go to sleep).
- Make the singing stop. I don’t know why my Mother and Father seem to think that whining ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ over and over will send me to sleep. In fact, hearing their voices screeching and wailing has the opposite effect and keeps me wide awake. (And if I have to listen to ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat one more time, I will scream.)
- Not every bad smell is me. Mother and Father are quick to blame me for any stinky whiff in the air. I’m pretty sure this is to take the heat off their own bodily odours.
- Stop worrying. You’re doing the best you can. And I love you.
Love, Baby Anon x