Don’t give the baby pineapple

Lotty T - 11 Jan 17

The key lesson I can take from today involves fruit.

I’ve only been doing this school-run malarkey for a term and a week, but I don’t think I’ll ever have it pegged. My eldest, just four, is in nursery. My youngest, just one, is seemingly intent on sabotaging this pursuit.

Unlike those mums who are up and ready to go as their little ones arise from slumber, I usually crawl out of bed like a post-hibernation bear, growling about the necessity of tea, right now.  And the fact that we don’t have time for porridge this morning, again. Because we only have half an hour before we need to leave the house, again. How I wish I was a morning person.

Anyway, I digress. Mr Four, somewhat reluctant to prepare for the inevitable enforced educational fun is doing everything as s-l-o-w-l-y as he possibly can. “Come upstairs NOW and get dressed… 1, 2, 3, etc etc” continues for the whole, frenzied half-hour. I pounce in and out of the shower, run up and downstairs frantically finding lost socks, swigging cold tea and providing new sources of entertainment for Little Miss One, unceremoniously plonked in her cot for safekeeping.

Hair half-dry, clothes almost on, I look at the clock. Victorious! If we leave now, we’ll be on time. I’m SUCH A GOOD MUM. “Right Mr Four, we’ll make it, hop downstairs and put your shoes on while I grab the baby.”

I enter her bedroom and see her there, grinning gleefully through a wall of stench so foul that I actually wonder if it can possibly have come from her. Pulling her out of the cot, I realise that not only has she created it, she has bathed in it. PANIC. Sheer panic. “The baby’s pooed all over EVERYTHING!” I yell downstairs. I knew I shouldn’t have given her that pineapple – this happens every time. 278 baby wipes and a complete outfit change later we are ready to go. Ready to go apart from coats, gloves and book bags. And the excrement all over my hands.

I would describe my state of mind as actual frenzy at this point. “Mr Four, GET DOWN HERE NOW! WHY DO I HAVE TO ASK YOU THREE TIMES???!!” His face as he comes downstairs isn’t angry at me, just disappointed.

We literally run to school, Mr Four commenting excitedly again on the dead hedgehog that has been there for two months (we can still see his spines). As we near the gate, I see other children running in. Six minutes, we made it in six minutes… we’re on time! I deposit the boy victoriously, and watch as he stares at the few names still on the table, trying to find his own. Dazed and confused by the last traumatic hour of his life.

And as I meander out of school, pushing the buggy, I realise two things.

• Never give the baby pineapple. It always ends badly.
• I need to chill out. My reaction to the pressure to be on time was so unnecessary. I was rude and forceful towards Mr Four in a way that I would never be to another adult. That is NOT worth being on time for.

So I’ve decided to reconcile with ‘The Late Door’. This dark, shameful backdoor has an almost mythological place in my head. But we can be friends. I shun 100% attendance certificates and their false promise of success and joy.

Lotty T

Mum of two lovely little humans.

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