Mildred is 5 months old today and has decided that, from now on, water noises will no longer suffice as a magic off-switch. These days, if we desire 10 minutes of hands-free peace, she’ll settle for nothing less than music with accompanying pictures.
Hence she has come into the YouTube fold and appears to be embracing Bollywood’s finest nursery rhymes with the same square-eyed gusto that her brother did. What on earth did we do before smart phones?
(She’s nowhere near as blonde as she looks in this pic – it must just be the light)
In Mildred’s case, the videos mostly come in useful during The Grizzle Hours (aka 5pm – 8pm) when she undergoes a full gremlin metamorphosis to coincide with us having to feed, bathe, storify & bed the microbe. Not to mention cooking and eating our own dinner.
It makes me wonder whether the organisations who place ads on Youtube realise what depths of venomous hatred they instil in weary parents when their effing ads pop up in the middle of baby playlists? I swear to god – the nanosecond one of Mildred’s nursery rhymes gets interrupted by an advert she goes into a squalling meltdown. (Yes, I am talking about YOU, arthritis charity! A pox on you and all of your sufferers! You shall never have a penny from me. And I might even firebomb your headquarters.)
I am pleased to say that, since the boybot started school, we’ve brought his bedtime forward to 7:30, which seems to be working out very well. I can usually get Mildred into bed shortly afterwards, which gives G and me a good few hours each evening to fall asleep in front of the TV. (Rock & roll, etc.)
Alas the girlbot still doesn’t sleep through the night. Far from it. I don’t know where you get these genetically modified babies who sleep through at 3 months. I think the microbe managed it by around 3 years, so I’m not holding my breath…
As for the boy, he seems to have settled in at school with a circle of new friends. Today he has his first after-school playdate with one of them and is very excited about it. He has left me with strict instructions to bring this inexplicable pile of naff toys with me when I pick him up from school, so that he can take them with him to his friend’s house.
I’m very glad that he’s bedding in but (oh god) I will have to reciprocate the playdate, won’t I? This means that I will have to tidy up… (oh god, oh god).
But, then again, someone has to provide the service of lowering the acceptable standard – yes? Otherwise we’ll all be trapped forever in a horrible labour-intensive pretence of immaculate houses. I think I have sufficient nobility of character to take one for the team.
We had our first parents’ evening a couple of weeks ago and all seemed to be going well. His teacher gave us a load of bumf about phonics that we can do with him at home …and I have failed to do any of it so far (bad mummy). Why do they have to make kids’ early reading books so achingly dull? Did the UK learn nothing from Dr Seuss? Feh!
In any case, most days the boy’s bookbag comes home full of sticks, leaves and other random stuff that he has found in the school garden. (He is nothing like his mummy whatsoever *cough cough*). I dread to think what state his school books are going to end up in if they have to coexist with that lot.
As for me… in the 20-minute slots when I’m not required to do something baby- or school-related, I am attempting to satisfy my creative urges with sporadic quilt-making and another knitted baby hat that is experimental but will be cute if it works. God, what would I give for the old days when I could spend long, uninterrupted hours on some crafty pursuit or other?
Next week is half term – which means days and days of Microbe activity to dream up. Hopefully we’ll be filling up some of it with a visit to Grandma’s. And we have a pair of pumpkins and some skeleton gingerbread man cutters and a load of pretty leaves being dried and pressed under a pile of books. Other than that, Bollywood nursery rhymes might have to be on double duty…