m i a o w


And so on…

This morning, against all my better judgement, I walked with Small Z (on foot) and Small DB to the park, where playgroup was being held. I say against my better judgement because it was already a very hot day, it took us 40 minutes to get out of the house, and Small DB would not settle in the pram. I had been up every two hours the night before. By the time we got to the end of the street I’d had it. But Small Z wailed and begged, “But I want to go to playgroup. I WANT to go to playgroup…”

I am so often hearing (from someone who will remain nameless) that Small Z does not socialise enough, and is not socially evolved for her age, so to hear her *begging* to go to playgroup made me not want to deny her the opportunity. “Daisy always makes us stay in the house,” she said reproachfully. And then reverted to “But I want to go to playgroup. I WANT to go to playgroup…” ad nauseum until I wanted to shake her.

So Small DB wouldn’t settle and I had to put her in the sling on the side of the road while she yelled. And then we continued, sweating, at toddler pace, all the way to the park…

Once there, the lady that runs the playgroup stood near us and asked me, in full hearing of Small Z, if I thought she would like an icy-pole. Gah.
“Fine,” I said ungratefully over the top of Small Z’s head even as she began piping, “An icicle? I WANT an ICICLE!”
“Only if they’re not RED,” I snarled. And then watched Small Z inhale her first ever lemonade icy-pole. It took under four minutes.

Of course, there was no socialising for Small Z, because she’s not interested in any of the kids at playgroup, none of whom are her age. And there was no socialising for me, because I was focusing on keeping Small DB asleep after transferring her back into the pram. The playgroup socialising has become far more established since I last attended regularly and having a tiny baby that I have to concentrate on, as well as Small Z, makes it hard to participate in any lengthy conversation. There is a woman who lives around the corner from us who is lovely – what I SHOULD do is just ask her to come around with her kids one morning… I just haven’t yet got the gumption.

Anyway, by the time I had found somewhere shady and fed Small DB, everyone seemed to have evaporated. Then Small Z climbed to the top of a pole and couldn’t get down, and I had to request a grandmother who was nearby to get her down so as to avoid stopping mid-feed. After another 20 minutes it was getting hellishly hot and I realised that I’d really been stupid to come out at that time of day. Small Z looked like a little beet under her hat…

She threw a MAJOR tantrum as we I tried to start walking home because I wouldn’t go back with her to get some more flower petals from off the ground. Grrrr. By that time I had turned into one of those mother’s that I used to look at and think, “What a COW. What did she even HAVE children for if she doesn’t even LIKE them?” I was answering Small Z in monosyllables. She screamed all the way past the library. I am usually uncaring about public tantrums, but I was so hot and miserable, that when three people walked past and cooed in distress over the small screaming beetroot that was dragging itself along 15 paces behind me, I gave them a death stare that made one of them visibly stumble…

Small Z then realised we had passed the library – where I had said we would go after play-bloody-group and redoubled her efforts. I finally made her agree to be QUIET and NOT MENTION THE FLOWER PETALS AGAIN on the proviso that we would go into the library for TEN MINUTES. Small DB had, thankfully, finally gone to sleep in the pram. In the library we found a book on the sale table that Small Z fell in love with – I had exactly a dollar twenty in my possession – which enabled us to buy it, and for me to photocopy her immunisation records – as I had become suddenly feverishly keen to get her started in child care as soon as humanly possible and they required copies.

The walk home was long, hot, but untroubled. I won’t be doing it again in a hurry. Fuck the socialising. She can talk up a storm, and that will have to do for now. When we got home, I remembered something I had read – when you can’t cope anymore, put them in the bath! – so I did. She stayed in there for half an hour, cooling off, while I sat and began typing this entry with one hand, rocking the pram with the other. The girl from next door came in and we both shared a companionable rant, after which I felt even more improved…

Until my doctor called me and said that my blood tests from Monday showed that my Vitamin D is again low and my iron is borderline. I SO did not need to hear it. Some days are TOO. FUCKING. HARD. And this was one of them. I’m glad it’s over. Gah.


unschool monday: touch and texture




  1. What can I say except much sympathies and I feel for you. LOL, now that you’ve reminded me after several weeks of not taking them, I’m sitting here popping my iron and vitamin D pills 😀

  2. Rae

    Socialising… Yet another thing I feel mega guilty about. Bert is off to school next year and I console myself with the thought ‘that’ll do!’. I know it won’t but it’ll have to 🙂
    And the feeling of being a cow… heh, been there too. On those horrid days, even people whose little ones have grown should remember what it was like.

  3. beth

    Glad I could help! 😉
    I’ve just doubled the dose of both and am actually going to BUY LIVER and EAT IT!

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