Monday, 22 October 2012

The Three Bears

Oh help! I've turned into one of those people. You know the ones that talk in third person? I blame Facebook circa 2007: it made us all slightly narcissistic with the 'is' on status updates - remember the 'is'? As in: 'Mrs W is having eggs for breakfast' or something just as mundane.
Now it's all 'Mummy and daddy this,' which happens daily and I find myself not only talking in third person, but worse, using the Royal We: 'We did a poo today and it went everywhere.' - Can you actually imagine having that conversation out of context...?! Somehow it becomes socially acceptable to say it with a baby.

Instead of the usual greetings, it's 'Hello daddy how are you?' when I pick up the phone, or 'Grandma wants a cuddle'. The thing is; it’s quite sweet to use it in our family but I use it with friends, even strangers and I can't stop. I'm at the Doctors' and I say 'We have got a cold', the shops and I'm all 'Mummy needs to buy some milk'.
If baby bear could speak I'm sure he'd be telling us to 'Grow up, use your words properly'.

It's even got the point where one of us has made up a song and the other sings it. For example, I took our bubba to swimming the other day and daddy comes in (I'm at it again) and starts singing 'splishy splashy' - actually at me! I just looked at him as if to say what are you doing?

Now sometimes all this has its advantages such as 'Daddy didn't do the washing up did he?' while I happily play with our son, then my husband will joyously sing back 'Mummy is so sarcastic and moany isn't she?' and so it carries on while the other one gets agitated (even though we'd agreed we'd never talk through him).

It's also great for rude people. Like the obnoxious librarian I came across the other day who also insisted (but resentfully so) that she stand outside the disabled toilets while I changed a nappy. So within ear shot I said to my son 'When you're a big boy sometimes, unfortunately, you may come across some not very nice people in life and the best thing to do is be nice to them and walk away. Mummy is pretending to be nice now when really she's thinking piss right off .' I then walked out of the toilets and smiled sweetly at her...
Other examples include telling other people what you think while talking to your child. What me, passive aggressive?

At least we're not the only ones that refer to our son's parentage in third person, lots of friends have said they do the same or maybe they're just trying to humour me? Either way, it’s just our way of life now - mummy and daddy simply can't help it.

Sunday, 7 October 2012

Lady In Red

You know you're a mum when you go and buy a rain mac. Not your camouflage blend-in-with-the-crowd one, but a bright red polka dot one at that. You might as well go out in your slippers and not brush your hair...oh.

It appears that I'm now last in the pecking order in our little family, it's: bubba, husband then me and it's all my own doing. It's just I forget about me now and the things I used to do for myself. For example, I used to have a bit of a magazine fetish (nothing kinky I'm afraid) that went hand-in-hand with a bubble bath and a glass of wine. Now that seems like a lifetime ago.

And Christ knows when I last went to the salon to get my hair, or anything else, spruced. I'm even pondering whether to get that obligatory mum-chop, you know the one? Where you don't need to actually style your hair; it's short enough so you don't get baby dribble and sick in it, or it gets pulled out by the handfuls.

Right now, I'm rocking the 'Shoreditch top-knot', except it's purely for practical reasons. Rather than joining the trendy (but pretending they're not trendy) East London crowd by wearing the black (no prescription) framed glasses that accompany the bun. I've got the geek-chic look sorted: all I need to do is don some brogues with my PJs.

Included in not looking after myself is my diet - are the words diet and biscuits allowed together btw? I'm not getting near enough my five-a-day. I must admit, I've never been a gourmet chef at the best of times - even though I do make a mean Burmese curry - but my culinary skills have gone to pot (excuse the pun). My daily nutrients usually consist of peanut butter on toast accompanied by downing a glass of Berocca on my way out of the house.
But I have nailed getting ready in a military operation style though - I'm pretty sure I can fix up and look half blunt faster than Usain Bolt can run the 100 metres. And a pair of sunnys and a smacker of red lippy (to match my new red mac perhaps?) is a great disguise for those sleepless nights.

Saying all that, I do still at least check I'm dressed properly before I head out… Unlike Shirley; who once walked to her friend's house with her left boob hanging out, (yep, you read that right) all jiggly and exposed as she strolled up the street. Her friend had to motion to her that her bazonga was on display as she handed her a drink - all in front of two strangers...

So these days, I might look more Little Red Riding Hood than Chris De Burgh's Lady in Red, however, I do stop short at stuffing tissues up my sleeve. Just remind me to untie that muslin from around my shoulder...