Potato-Gate

Potato-Gate

If there’s one thing I’ve learnt in the past 18 months it’s that just as you think everything is going swimmingly and you reckon you have got to grips with the whole parenting thing, it inevitably goes slightly tits up again.

For example, one minute you’re feeling all pleased with yourself because your little one is finally sleeping through the night and the next, he/she is up every other hour and has a new wake up time of 4am. Or how about the nappy changing thing? You’ve finally found a way of getting your toddler to lie down and have their nappy changed without escaping and then they lose interest in your clever technique and start racing around naked before you’ve had the chance to wipe their bottom. (The thought that there might be small particles of poo on the floor is making me want to cry as I write this!)

I thought I had cracked dinner time with Poppy. She was eating really well and had stopped chucking food all over the place. Instead she had started to say ‘Mummy’ when she’d had enough and hand me any food that she didn’t want. The water spitting had stopped too. In fact, dinner time was a pleasure, with Classic FM on in the background. It was almost like a grown-up dinner party.

And then Potato-Gate happened and it’s been downhill from there.

Potato-Gate took place on a rainy afternoon last week. I was feeling all relaxed and slightly dare I say it, smug as I watched Poppy eat her dinner with relish. “She’s such a good girl”, I thought to myself. And then, out of nowhere, I was hit on the head with a new-potato. Before I had time to react, another load of potato followed. It landed on my jeans, my arms and all over the floor.

“Poppy”, I exclaimed. “We don’t throw”.

She looked at me and then proceeded to empty her entire bowl of food all over the floor. I groaned in dismay as I trod salmon into the rug and slipped on some squished brocolli.

Then the real trouble started. You see having chucked all her food on the floor, Pops suddenly decided that she wanted to eat it again and started crying as she pointed at her “tatoes” and spoon on the floor.

What you do in this situation is beyond me. She’s too young to really know what she’s doing right?

Anyway, since Potato-Gate, dinner time has descended into absolute chaos. Last night was particularly bad with shepherd’s pie ending up all over my beloved DAB Radio and peas down my top. Oh and did I mention that all the foods that she loved a few weeks ago she’s now not so keen on?

The terrible twos are coming I fear and it’s not gonna be pretty.

UFM xx

 

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