So kids are like little drunk ninjas who are fluent in a language that makes sense to absolutely NO ONE!! At first I would attempt to engage in a conversation made up entirely of sounds, pointing and interpretive dance… but a few hours in I lost the will and decided my totes adorbs nephew talks shite! You see… I recently had the pleasure of spending some time with said 1-year-old nephew. He’s actually nearly 2… but I refuse to do that maddening thing of counting his age in months because a) it’s nonsense and b) nobody actually gives a shit! Since my last visit, he is now proficient in jumping INTO furniture and has numerous achievements of aimlessly running off, falling over and repeat. He has also perfected the art of throwing me shade when he’s ‘tired’ and pulling the most delightful face that makes me want to hug the crap out of him! I was left with a set of rules of do’s and don’ts when I took him to the park on my own for the first time ever… that all promptly went out the window. Hey listen… if poking dog poo with a stick and having a near death experience on a climbing frame makes him love me more… then so be it!
The day spent with my little pal was funny, educational and fecking exhausting. Every time I get somewhat broody and clutch my dormant womb with feelings of overwhelming love… I just think back to my nephew screaming because I didn’t IMMEDIATELY retrieve his favourite toy he had just fucked across the room for the 17th time... and then order is restored again. Here are 10 ‘things’ I discovered when the little dude broke me one casual Monday.
My name is either ‘eh!’ a fart noise or ‘banana’. Each name can be interchanged quite effortlessly depending on whether he’s had a nap and doesn’t hate me and everything I stand for.
I have zero authority because bold kids make me laugh… plus it’s more fun to watch the drama unfold as he goes all ‘Beautiful Mind’ with his crayons on my parent’s conservatory doors.
‘Playing’ and entertaining a child requires defibrillator or a few lines of cocaine to keep up.
Whatever they want… for the love of god just give it to them! It’s not worth the public humiliation and most excellent meltdown that will follow.
Hiding all expensive items is a must because removing crusty Weetabix from my laptop is no craic.
It’s easier to just accept the fact that a heart attack will happen every 10 minutes when you hear a crash from another room.
I have approximately 3 full seconds from the time of crash to full on hysterical crying. Throwing sugary delights and expensive Weetabix covered laptop at him makes it all better.
Introducing ‘fun’ games like dizzy dizzy dinosaur when the child is spinning wildly towards a marble fireplace/and or coffee table is probably the worst idea. Ever.
Having to continuously congratulate and praise him for shit like ‘organising’ his crayons… by emptying the entire contents of his pencil case onto the floor... is the epitome of bullshit!
It’s really hard not to judge a 1 year old who is wearing Crocs.