Saturday, 18 April 2020

2.5 here we are

Lockdown with a small human is going fine, except I don’t even want to look at the contents of my hoover right now. I imagine it to look a bit like when they found that disgusting fatberg in the London sewers, but with a bit more sticker and grape content. Riv manages to launch any of his dinner leftovers into the deepest depths of our house; it’s a real delight to find a 2 month old green bean nestled inside a lampshade. Quite often there will be a family of shrivelled, leaky blueberries haunting the underneath of the furniture and sometimes I contemplate moving house instead of having to touch them - it is glaringly obvious which foods our dog (our usual hoover) definitely doesn’t like. 

But it’s not just the food mess. Now that we’re spending all of our time at home, all kinds of gunk from outside is being trampled into our already dishevelled home throughout the day. I’ve walked past the same pile of crushed crayons on the patio for days now, knowing they will be transferred inside by small feet, but I’ve decided its an art feature. The nice little soft bark play area we made for River in the garden has become somewhat of an ammo station, tiny bits of wood are systematically launched at the dog all day and tipping out my shoes before I put them on has become a frequent necessity. On an average lockdown day, the house looks like it’s been raided by the drug squad; every drawer has been opened by River for no other reason than for him to aggressively rustle the contents, laugh at me hysterically and run around in circles while making siren noises. I’m trying to untangle three pairs of headphones that have intertwined with various balls of blu tac while Rivs jumping naked from sofa to sofa before finally straddling my head and whispering psychotically in my ear “poo mummy!”. He’s the Tasmanian devil incarnate at times but shit me, he’s the absolute love of my life. 

A little while ago we were under the impression that the breastaurant had closed it’s doors due to decreasing trade, but as it stands, it was merely shut for a 3 day refurbishment. It’s now a milk bar where Riv will just pop in for a swift one before bed but occasionally takes up the 2-4-1 offer if he’s not driving. I always said I would breastfeed until he didn’t want to anymore and while I was anticipating it would be around 18 months in, we still just haven’t reached that point yet at 2.5 years. He’s at a stage where he understands so much and so I’ve attempted several delicate conversations with him regarding breastfeeding and how he doesn’t need it anymore. But the conversations have been summarised by River as “boobies are for babies ... and RIVER!” so, we are where we are and I guess I’ll see you at his year 10 parents evening with him on my tit. 

Potty training is an absolute non starter. Some days I feel really motivated and positive, I’ve watched mums give their top tips on YouTube, I’ve got an array of training pants and sticker initiatives at the ready and I’m going for it... And it fails. Which means I approach the next day with a “Well. He’ll just shit his pants for the rest of his life, it’s fine” attitude. He’s not ready yet and I don’t want to give him any negative associations of the potty so it’s taking a back seat for now. Or maybe until the weather is nice and I can do it all in the garden and save my floors from his outgoings. Either way it needs to happen at some point, especially as the dog seems to think that he can follow suit and piss on my rugs when I’m not in the room. There can be an extremely feral vibe in our house at times. 

River has also picked up some lovely habits from Jason and I, including the exclaim of the phrase “oh my god” at least 10 times a day which is just mortifying. He’s repeating almost everything we say and it’s such a hard task to watch your words, especially when you think he’s not paying attention and we’re in a deep conversation about Tiger King. He’s always listening. But with that, comes some incredible comical and heartwarming moments with him; the fact that he can express himself and what he wants far more eloquently now is amazing. I love to talk to him and ask him about things he remembers doing from the day and hear how he viewed it. Jason loves to question him daily on who he loves more between two selected people from our families, because he’s a sadistic clown. 

Another notable habit is singing. He’s always singing. Not in the xfactor “oh Simon I’ve been singing since I was a baby, just give me a chance!” singing. He sings one song and one song only. The fireman Sam theme song. He’ll sing it all day, he’ll hum it while he’s got mouthfuls of food, he’ll sing it while he’s yawning and falling asleep. It’s the song of his life and if it was anyone else’s kid I would have ripped my ears off by now to escape from the pain of the sound. But River singing it for the millionth time is just as cute as the first time he did it and I will definitely be showing his future partners the numerous videos I have of him performing it full gusto. Along with the videos of him playing with his willy while relentlessly screeching WEEWEEWEEWEE. 

He’s growing into a proper little boy and it’s as magical as it is heart wrenching. I’ve gone from holding a tiny baby who I wouldn’t even want people to clear their throat near, to watching a boy with bruised, dirty knees running riot and learning about the (albeit very limited at the moment) world around him. He’s changing all the time but the amount of sleep deprivation, worry, anxiety and shit that gets smeared on my hands hasn’t altered much since the day he was born. I say it all the time but it’s so exhausting to raise a small human, you give yourself up for them and you feel like you're on your knees at times but it’s also the absolute best. 


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