How to be a bad mother - part 2

I always thought I'd be a creative, fun mum, one who would always have time to read a book or build blocks for hours on end. I do do these things, but just not as often as perhaps I should. I have succumbed to that awful thing, the TV. I never wanted to just shove on a dvd to keep my son quiet for a bit and yet that's exactly what I do. If I need to cook the tea, Mr Tumble goes on. When I need to write e-mails, his makaton nursery rhymes dvd goes on. When I'm folding the laundry, it's Wallace and Gromit. For a long time Tom's attention would wander and I'd get mildly irritated that he wouldn't just stay put and watch the thing from beginning to end. Well, now he will sit there and watch an entire dvd (give or take a wander to check I'm still around) and while it allows me to do my jobs, I feel horribly guilty. I'm ruining his creativity!
I always remember those kids at school whose parents allowed them one hour of tv a week and they were always the brainy ones. They'd have family performances of Much ado about nothing and learn Sanskrit in the evenings. Ok, they were a bit geeky, but geeky you can grow out of. I'm not sure you can grow out of a serious tv addiction. Or can you? Can I cold-turkey him when he starts school?

How to be a bad mother - part 1

Wow. I thought I'd turned a corner when I finally put corner guards on the coffee table but it seems I'm still a work in progress as far as being a competent mum goes.
Before the nitty gritty I shall regale you with a few details or, in my case, mitigating circumstances.
I very rarely have the time for a shower, let alone a bath, and so last night when my husband kindly offered to watch Tom for a bit whilst I took a bath, I bit his hand off. I was in that bathroom quicker than you can say mouldy toes. Anyway, I scrubbed, shaved and rinsed and felt thoroughly human once more by the end of it.
Fast forward to this morning and my story begins. I was having a number two (the door was open too ensure a quick getaway if any vaguely worrying noises from the beast wafted in) but as it was he, as is his wont, came in to see me. Imagine my horror, then, when he went straight to the razor I'd left on the side of the bath. Aaggh! The fact that he put it straight in his mouth and smirked when I started shrieking at him didn't help to calm me in any way. Thankfully I managed to carefully get it out of his mouth and grasp before any damage was done. I sat back down to finish my doings and to chastise myself severely for being a crap mum only for Tom to return with a pair of scissors in his hands. I'd left it on the bloody dining room table! Ok, note to self, he can now climb onto chairs and therefore onto the table. Nothing is safe. I suppose a cage is out of the question? Yes? Oh, bum.

My favourite things (this week)

Over the past fifteen months I've noticed that these babies tend to grow pretty quickly. They're like mushrooms, the little buggers. I've therefore decided to jot down what my own little fungus is up to on a regular basis;one wouldn't want to forget their milestone moments, would one?
Here goes.
My absolute favourite thing about Tom is his dancing. Where he got his style/skill from is anyone's guess as I've got two left feet and husband just stands still and shakes his imaginary maracas, but nevertheless Tom is a groover. He starts his Ball Popper, the music kicks in and he starts swaying rhythmically and bopping up and down like he's practising headers. It's hilarious to watch and he clearly thinks he's the finest dancer in the land, such is the joy on his little face.
My other favourite thing is also one of the most tiring. While my back is turned, he'll clamber up onto my computer chair and start banging away on the keyboard. I rush over, gently place him back on the floor and tend to my damaged computer. He in the meantime has gone over to daddy's desk and taken his i-pod. I rush over to retrieve it and he flings it away and rushes off to grab the telephone. After I've re-claimed the telephone, he's pulling the dvds out of their cases. Once I've rescued Pingu from his grasp, he's back in my computer chair. Aaahhhh! It makes me laugh every time. He's so bleedin' quick!
My final favourite thing from this week is listening to his new words. 'Car! Car! Car! Car! Car!' he screams at every single car he sees which, seeing as we live pretty much on the main thoroughfare in our village, is a lot. He's also learnt to roar and to say ciao ciao. What a boy!

Teething woes

Tom now has ten teeth, including two of the biggies at the back, and they seem to have arrived without too much fuss. He was noticeably whingier but didn't seem overly uncomfortable or in pain. Last night, however, oh boy. I clocked him at about six-ish chewing on his dummy and pummelling his face with his little fat fist and thought casually, 'ah, teething', but that didn't prepare me for the following eight hours. He started to scream, and he carried on screaming, and he didn't let up until about two o'clock in the morning. Calpol didn't work, cuddles didn't work and even our fail-safe remedy - letting him sleep in our bed - didn't work. He was clearly in a lot of discomfort and there was nothing I could do. It was quite upsetting, actually. Come this morning and the teeth pain seems to have gone but it's been replaced by a rasping cough and voice that comes from a lifelong B&H fan. And there's another thing. His bottom. When I changed his nappy this morning, his bum wasn't only red but it was raised, swollen and bumpy and painful-looking. I smeared him in sudocrem and that gave him some immediate relief but on changing him again a little while ago the rash was still there and looking as angry as before. I'm reliably informed that red bum syndrome goes hand-in-hand with teething so I'm not to worry on that front. Both will sort themselves out. I used to complain about having a whingey baby but I'd rather have that than the screaming whirling dervish of last night. Not pleasant. Roll on adolescence!