Now, before I start let me clarify, I love my 3 year old more than a pint bottle of cider with a pint glass of ice on a hot day.
She’s head strong, determined, independent, with a wicked sense of humour. All the qualities she gets from me.
From the moment she wakes, she likes to test me, sure isn’t that her job?
Why is it when you’re in a rush every thing that can go wrong will go wrong?
In hindsight, it was my fault ( here comes the mummy guilts). My mobile slipped off the locker during the night, with the battery falling out so the Monday morning alarm didn’t go off.
I was in a frenzy, we woke 10 minutes later than usual (we can make that up easily eh…)
First obstacle “knickers”
Mini-me announces “she’s too big for Peppa pig pants and doesn’t want to wear them anymore”
Ok, I’ll get another pair. I pull the knicker drawer apart thinking why has every bloody pair of knickers got poxy peppa pig on them. Every single pair, grabbing one with even bloody George pig on it “seriously” I never bought any of these. I’ll dump them later to make it easier in the morning. No, I’ll leave it, she could be looking for them in the morning!
I find a white pair that says Thursday in fluorescent pink across the front. ‘What do they say Mammy she asks’? Monday! I reply knowing the next question would be what day is it! I’m one step ahead, she won’t crack me this morning. ( I know that there’s more likelihood of ski pants coming back into fashion, than her wearing Thursday knickers on a Monday) Mariah Carey wouldn’t have a look in with this doll.
Do you want porridge or Weetabix hun?
Porridge, I mix it, mammy!
I’m on this “ it’s ok hun, mammy mix it this morning we are in a rush”
she asks me “ why did the 3 bears go for a walk?”
Em… just eat up your porridge please ( I don’t have fecking time for this )
Because their porridge was too hot I answer..
Oh, she says… why did they not just have Weetabix?
Now that would’ve really been clever, they didn’t think of that, are you finished yet?
No, my porridge is too hot, I want Weetabix Mammy!
( under my breath.. just eat the fecking porridge, please)
Getting out the door I say
“ let mammy put your shoes on for you.”.
No, I do it myself…
No mammy will do it we are in a rush.
So I’m now running up and down the hall after her, trying to grab the shoes with a bulging stress vein ready to pop on my forehead
She is laughing, laughing her fecking head off.
Is she taking the piss? I step back and walk away in defeat, leave her to it.
I head into the kitchen and stand in the corner, slowly counting to ten to myself, taking deep breaths. In this moment thinking ‘ I can’t do this! yes I’ve cracked’ again
She creeps up beside me “shoes on the wrong feet “ wide-eyed like Bambi, full of innocence, and whispers to me “ what are you doing?
I burst out laughing, there’s the reality check. She’s only 3!
Nothing hun mammy’s doing nothing.
We walk to preschool holding hands. I’m 10 mins late,. Still
I apologise to the teacher who gives me a sisterhood look, she knows the story, she’s been there herself. I tell her I Will have my shit together by big school, (I hope).
Kissing and hugging my girl goodbye she runs into the classroom shouting back “I wove you, mammy”
Exhale.. Peace and quiet at last.
I have a hundred and one things to do in these three hours. But I’ ll have a coffee first.
I end up looking at photos of her on my phone, she’s a tiny ball of giggles and eagerness to do things for herself.
She drives me to distraction, to the brink of gin! Nobody knows how to get my stress vein working the way she does, but my god, do I love her.
(That face ) x