Soggy Saturday

Wet winter weekends in lockdown offer the ideal opportunity to lounge around in pjs, watch trash TV and gorge on chocolate biscuits.

Unless you have kids.

That’s when the forecast of rain fills you with dread as you wonder how you’ll pass the time indoors without killing each other. The dream of having wholesome family fun playing board games or cards together is shattered by the reality of Lebu charging in and swiping the dice or grabbing all the cards. No chance of me snuggling on the sofa because the kids are too busy jumping on it, whether I’m already on it or not.

Here’s how a typical soggy Saturday goes in our household:

After breakfast, Hubby goes to Sainsburys for two hours to do the weekly shop. He takes his noise cancelling headphones and listens to podcasts while swanning around in child-carefree bliss. I stay at home because I am banned from food shopping due to my compulsive spending habits, extensive time browsing and total inability to save money. The kids build a den out of the sofa, happily propping up the seat cushions to use as slides and smother each other with cushions. Hubby usually panics over the potential for serious injury from a stray leg flying into someone’s face. Meh. It’s all character building.  

There are 2 kids under there!

Lebu decides it’s more fun if there’s props so he pulls apart his toy kitchen to get to the plastic posts holding it together. Mishty grabs one and brandishes it around like a pirate while Lebu takes the more domestic route and pretends it’s a handheld hoover. The carpet is no longer visible, hidden under cushions, books, toy food and kitchen debris.

Dude, where’s my floor?

After a while, I decide they need to get dressed and they dutifully stampede upstairs. They launch themselves on my bed, bringing in every teddy and pillow they can find to hide under the duvet. The doorbell rings and it’s my latest online shopping delivery – excitedly I rip open the bag and start to try on the new clothes. The kids take this as their cue to copy me and both take their trousers off. Lebu is trying to pull his nappy off too while dangerously positioning himself over my spot in the bed. I haven’t had my coffee yet and my nerves are jangling. I decide they need some fresh air and spot a break in the rain for us to walk to the coffee shop.

It takes a ridiculously long time to get their trousers back on and for us all to be ready. While I’m locking up Lebu runs off down the road, leaving me to sprint after him while pushing his buggy with only his teddy bear inside it. It is now starting to drizzle and no one is listening to my pleas to keep their hoods on. By the time we arrive at the coffee shop, I feel like I’ve run a marathon. Mishty finds a fiver in his coat pocket and offers to buy me a coffee as long as he gets a hot chocolate in return, which seems fair. The rain is falling harder and I manage to get Lebu back in the buggy. I have lost my handy buggy cup-holder and find holding the cup while pushing slow going. Mishty keeps stopping to drink and then running to catch up, spilling his everywhere.

Once home, I sip my coffee and switch the telly on. I want to watch the food channel as a) I love looking at food and b) I hope it might make Lebu eat something other than just bread. Lebu finds the TV remote and hands it to me, saying “baby”.  I give in and flick it onto the Disney channel to find a family film we can all watch. As we settle in, Lebu goes up to the screen and starts crying, “BAAAAAAABBBYYYYYYYY!” I sigh and put a little animation on of a baby. Mishty is bored at this and decides to wind Lebu up by sitting on his now too small chair that has been passed down to Lebu. This is guaranteed to make him go ape shit. Mishty doesn’t budge and Lebu is trying to scratch his eyes out. I want to scratch my own eyes out and it’s not even midday.

Not interested in Bake Off

Eventually Hubby comes back and we have an early lunch. Afterwards, the kids play Lego. Mishty is focused on building an intricate model car with missiles and propellors while Lebu happily fills his teapot with little pieces. He has found a spoon and is now using this to spread Lego all across the floor. He picks up a little Lego man and inexplicably says, “Daddy!” I nod encouragingly at the obscure resemblance to the short, yellow, stubbled man. All is going well until I hear the frustrated cries from Lebu as he rips off the roof of a little car and then can’t put it back on again. Then I hear Mishty yell, “HEEEEEYYYYYY, GIVE IT BACK!” as Lebu find one of his models, almost breaks it, and then gets very upset when Mishty snatches it from him. Now he is screaming “MY, MY, MYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY” and the noise levels are deafening. I give Lebu something else to play with, he hurls it across the room in disgust.

Naps (sadly not for me), dancing around the living room to 80s classics (mainly me) and playing video games (mainly Hubby) eek out the rest of the day. After dinner, the mood is not a happy one. Mishty is sulking for being told off for being rude and Hubby is cross with him. As I clear up, Lebu finds a stash of glow sticks and I decide to get creative. I tape a skeleton outline on to both of them, switch off the light and video them as they dance about. I have to keep stopping as the sticks keep falling off because the tape is crap. This kills about 15 minutes and everyone is happy again.

Glowstick fun!

It is now bedtime. I pack off Mishty who takes an age to get into bed because he is so excited and just wants to make shapes out of the glowsticks. Lebu soons follows and by 9pm I can finally snuggle on the sofa in my pjs, watch Bake Off on catch up and eat my biscuit.

The end.

[Repeat all over again for soggy Sunday.]

Rejected and Dejected

Kids are fickle creatures. You painstakingly grow them in your womb, go through the hell of pushing them out and give up your freedom, work, sleep and boobs to keep them alive, only for them to one day cast you aside and scream for Daddy.

Lately, Lebu has decided that Hubby is his absolute favourite person in the whole world. I have been relegated to the same status as a toy-stealing baby hunter. Hubby is loving it, finally getting enough attention to satisfy his middle child complex. With every rejection, I try to hide my jealousy while he tries to hide his smirks. I know it’s not personal, it’s just a phase, blah blah, but rejection always sucks.

Here’s how a typical day goes:

1.08am Lebu whimpers in his sleep, (possibly a nightmare, possibly gas, who knows?). I try to shush him but instead he sits up and cries louder. I try to give him a cuddle and this makes him more angry, he shrugs me off and wails “Daddeeeeeeee, Daddeeee” over and over like he’s all alone and despite me being next to him, I don’t count. I desperately try to stop him from waking up the whole house. Lebu is starting to get hysterical so he takes matters into his own hands by flinging himself across me, crawling off the bed, walking out of the room in the dark and barging into the spare room where Hubby is sleeping. He crawls into bed with him and I’m left standing out in the cold.

8.30am Lebu comes downstairs with Hubby and waves at me. I smile back and lean in to give him a kiss and get a hand planted firmly in my face to say NO CHANCE MATE!

8.45am Hubby and Mishty are getting ready to leave for school. Lebu eagerly runs to the door to put his shoes on too. I try to pull him away as he still needs to change his clothes and nappy but he is fighting me and crying as they leave. He stands forlornly by the door, refusing to budge and once again, his cries of “Daddeeee, Daddeee” ring in my ears.

9.00am Lebu is determinedly trying to put his right shoe onto his left foot and does not want any help from me. He shoos me off angrily with a fierce “WAAY” before I realise he is trying to say go away. I sigh and leave him to it.

9.10am With a bit of help from my mate Elmo and his song we are ready to go. I open the front door and Lebu takes this as his cue to run in the opposite direction. I find him openly hiding in the corner of the kitchen looking mischievous. We get outside but he refuses to get in the buggy, instead he stands next to the car pointing and saying “car, car”. The kid is a petrolhead.

9.30am We make it to nursery. The key worker picks him up and tells him to say bye to me. I smile brightly and wave, he just looks at me blankly while I die a little inside.

5.10pm I pick him up from nursery. He looks past me and his first words are “Daddy?” No for fuck sake, it’s Mama who loves you more than life itself, Jesus what do I have to do to get some goddamn love here?! Disappointed by the absence of his father, he hopes I’ve brought the car at least. Another buggy meltdown when he realises I haven’t.

5.20pm He is home and clinging to his Daddy like a baby koala and does not want to be put down. Hubby is asking me to hold him for a second so he can nip to the toilet. Lebu reacts as if I am a three headed monster with fangs dripping with blood. 

6pm I lovingly prepare a slice of peanut butter and jam and cut it up into teeny squares. I try feeding him one but he squirms in his high chair and seems more interested in watering the floor with his beaker. Hubby comes along and magically, he eats. I quietly fume with frustration.

7pm I offer a toy to Lebu to get him to play with me. He takes the toy but waddles over to Hubby so they can play together. I am crushed.

7.30pm He looks at me and says “Mama”. My hopes soar, finally he wants me! He jumps into my arms and directs me to the kitchen like I’m a horse he is riding. “Mama, mama!” he shouts excitedly pointing to… a banana. Disappointed, I explain to him the importance of enounciation while he ignores me and eats his sodding Mama.

8.30pm There’s no chance of Lebu letting me put him to bed so I let Hubby take him up. He doesn’t want to go to bed just yet, and I can hear him chattering away. He starts saying “Ammu” which sounds like the Bengali word for mum. I get excited and run in the room. He is pointing to a teddy and my hopes shatter as I realise he wants Elmo, not Ammu. As he sees me he smiles, waves vigorously and says “BYE BYE” which is the baby way of saying fuck off. 

2am – Lebu is up. I can hear him crying from the spare room while Hubby tries to console him. I try to go back to sleep but then I hear him unmistakably call, “Maaammaaa”. I can’t ignore this so I leap out of bed and rush in. As I get closer it starts to sound like “Maana” and he is pointing to Hubby’s phone which is lying on the floor. It dawns on me. BLOODY MOANA is what he is trying to say, he is obsessed with that film. I go back to bed.

As another day begins, I vow to break the cycle of rejection. My plan is to smother him with attention, cuddles and kisses and force him to love me again. Until then, Hubby can continue to enjoy Lebu’s love, even when it follows him all the way to the toilet and into his room at 2am!