Little Chop had woken up early in the pitch black and it was 3 degrees outside – I should have been grumpy, but I wasn’t. We got up and I made us porridge with blue balls and apple. Yes…balls, Little Chop’s name for blueberries, which makes me laugh and laugh and laugh. Anyway, we were snuggly and warm in front of our big gas heater, eating our blue ball porridge, watching Giggle and Hoot and having a pretty good time. We read a few books, played with trains and danced to Play School songs in our jammies. Lovely.
At 11 I put Little Chop down for her nap, showered, perused eBay with a cup of decaf then set about making a bolognese to re-stock the freezer for lazy days to come. I was just browning the meat when I heard Little Chop wake, so I brought her out to the lounge room and attempted to put her down, but the closer she got to the floor the higher her legs climbed up my torso. Little Chop had emerged from her nap as a spider monkey of sorts. So, Little Chop on hip, I went back to the kitchen and attempted to carry on with the bolognese. Ever try cooking one handed while balancing a 12kg toddler on your hip when your 21 weeks pregnant with a bad back? Frankly, I wouldn’t recommend it.
I managed to unclench Little Chop’s grip on my jumper and peel her off me but maybe I should have abandoned the bolognese at this point because she proceeded to go on a search and destroy mission in the kitchen. Nothing on the bench was off limits – plates, knifes, potato peeler and cutlery were all grasped at on tip toes. Next stop was the bin where packets and scraps were poked and examined. Then the cupboard doors were thrown open and every plate was threatened with sudden death. I must have said ‘no’ twenty times before Little Chop finally ended her spree of chaos, deciding to squeeze between me and the stove to climb my legs and demand ‘mup, mup, MUP!’ instead.
I managed to finish cooking the bolognese but Little Chop required my full attention for the remainder of the afternoon. I don’t know if she’s teething or going through a clingy period, or maybe a ‘wonder week’, but I have never heard ‘Mum’ so many times in one day.
LC: Mum, mum, mum, mum.
Me: Yes, Darling?
LC: Mum….Mum, mum, mum.
Me: Yes, what would you like?
LC: Mum, mum, mum, mum, mum!
Me: Argh, what?
So, as I trudge down the hallway to resettle Little Chop for the third time tonight all I can do is remind myself that tomorrow is another day…