Mother (or Father) of the Year is a dubious honour awarded to parents when they utterly fuck up the gig of parenting. It’s delivered when you have either done something or allowed something to happen to your child that you really hope nobody else but you saw. It could be potentially life threatening, embarrassing, or just downright stupid.
Some may only have this accolade bestowed upon them once or twice a year. Others, like my fine self and The Husband have the unfortunate prize delivered somewhat more frequently.
But we are still within the first year of being parents, so there has to be some leniency towards our inexperienced situation, right?
The first time I won Mother of the Year (let’s call it MOTY) was when I chopped the top off the Womb Raiders tiny little finger when she was just a few weeks old. You can read all about THAT by clicking HERE
Recently I have been awarded almost every day, since we now have an almost toddling little Raider who is into bloody everything. I think I am still in denial, as she’s been crawling for well over a month and I’m yet to fully baby proof the house. So when I found her up two stairs (she can climb?!) with two screwdrivers in her mouth I was kind of surprised. The screwdrivers were to attach the security gate leading up a perilous flight of stairs. Best get onto that then eh?
Imagine my horror when I left the Womb Raider in her nursery on the floor playing with a turtle-shaped room thermometer for literally no more than 10 seconds and she spat a battery into my hand. Yep. Time to buy a trophy cabinet, and for all the wrong reasons.
On a phone call to an overseas office I heard a loud thud and called out to The Husband “Has she fallen down the stairs again?”. Sweet Jesus. I need to learn to hold my tongue.
Then there was the time when I was helping the Raider use the potty, clapping and smiling and high-fiving when she did her business as required. Then turning around after wiping her tiny little bum to find the dog eating her turd out of the potty. Thank you, thank you….really you are too kind, I’m taking a virtual bow right now.
The dog’s new name is “Shit Lips” and he no longer gets any kisses from me!
Today’s gem was pegging out the washing on the balcony where a few renovations are happening. I think the Raider is playing with pegs, but she’s been quiet for a while and I check to see she’s sucking on a can of WD-40. Shall I stop now? I hope this is making someone out there feel better about themselves. If I can help just ONE other person…..