Wednesday, 9 January 2013

Gracie five, Daisy two-and-a-half, Bliss fifteen months

So I can no longer say “I have-three under-fives”. That was my explanation for everything, my un-brushed hair, bad behaviour (kids, not me), lateness, poor driving, you name it. What will my excuse be now?

I’m finding it very hard to adjust to having a five-year-old. I was telling Gracie tales about when she was a lovely little baby. I had to stop, mid-story, to bite my fist and look into the middle-distance, trying to stop the inevitable tears. She said “Mum, if it makes you cry so much, you can just pretend I am still four” and ran off.

I can’t even clutch Bliss to me to get a lovely-little-baby fix. She weighs the same as Gracie and bites if you approach her without food. We finally got her feet measured. We went to Clarks. When we first had Gracie’s feet measured, I sneered at Clarks, claiming they were generic and remedial. Third time round? Clarks is easy to park outside, therefore it will do just fine.

Turns out we have been cramming Bliss’ bricks (I mean feet) into shoes that are far too narrow for her all this time. It’s probably why she kept removing them mere seconds after I’d spent ten minutes jamming them on. 

It’s all different now she has her remedial, school-mistress, Clarks-specials though. I have to wrestle them off her at night-time. She spends all day clomping about in them, treading on our toes and kicking us.

And she won’t take her GIANT coat off either. If we dare remove it when entering the house she does her angry goose noise “uuuuurrrnnkKK, uuuurrrrnnnkKKKK” and bites us. At home she lurks under the hat-stand, jumping up and down in her big shoes trying to grab our coats.

On a good note, at least she is always ready to leave the house, unlike Daisy-the-naturist who can’t bear having any clothes on.

I have to bribe her with strawberry laces just to get her into knickers, and if they don’t have Peppa Pig on, I can forget it. All she wants to do is watch Peppa (naked). Whilst I am delighted by the boost it’s given her vocabulary, I’ve realised that Peppa is a precocious spoiled brat and I can’t stand her.

She never says please or thank you, she picks on her poor little brother George, and those two fat parents don’t offer any discipline at all. They just laugh and fall over all the time. These are Daisy’s idols.

She had her second settle-in at pre-school today. I asked when they thought she would be ready to stay a whole session. The response was “Let’s not run before we can walk.”

Bliss can talk too now. She can see mummy, daddy, Daisy, Gracie, milk, snack, juice, keys, up, that no, yes. The list goes on and on. When Daisy was her age… well, let’s not go there shall we? They are all different and they all do, (or do not do) things in their own time.

Daisy's talking is much better now anyway. She tells me her nose is falling down when it needs wiping. She always notices when I've cleaned out my car "Your car all lovely nice innit mummy?" she appreciates the smell of my posh Badedas bubble bath "Mmm, what that lovely smell mummy?" If we ever go to get anything from the shelf which houses the medicine and plasters she asks "Who sick? (only she does not pronounce the W, so it's more "OOOooh sick?" )

A real chatterbox. Especially at 4am when she comes downstairs with her heavy Peppa Pig book and wants to read it to us, or shout "MAKE ME TEA DADDY!" very loudly in his face.

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