Published on July 21st, 2017 | by voxx0
My toddler took a tumble. Running as fast as his legs could carry him (which is faster than his body can keep up with…), he raced towards me. In his dinosaur crocs.
Those things are misleading; deceiving shoes that go on so joyfully easily, yet come off with such unnecessary simplicity…
I dodged his rugby tackle skilfully, allowing him to continue on his way. Yet he didn’t make it past me. Instead Diego face-planted the carpet. I stifled a laugh. Bad Mummy.
I gazed at Diego who was glaring at the ground. Holding out a caring hand, I offered him all of my love, sympathy and affection. I would carry his burden. I would be Supermom. Another wrinkle deepened on my forehead. If I had peered in a mirror I’m sure I would have been able to see it running and stretching, making its way across my skin. The only running this body will see.
Diego let out a furious scream.
Que fabulous toddler amateur dramatics.
Presented with an angry (yet perfectly fine) little monkey, he grabbed hold of my ankle. Nails like cheese graters gauged at my feet, trying to decapitate my toes. “Kind hands!” I squealed, trying to remember everything I had recently learnt about calm parenting techniques. Encourage good behaviour, distract from the bad…
He flashed his pearly whites and bit down on my leg. At this point my son was on a mission. He would plant some blame. At that moment he didn’t like Mummy anymore.
By the end of it all, Diego came out of it unscathed.
I, however, am sporting some heroic bruises, bites and scratches.
There is one lesson I learnt from this particular incident, which is that in the toddler mind everything is Mummy’s fault – even if it isn’t.
- By Boneata Bell