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The 3 Rs of Parenting.
School started when they lifted baby off your chest to cut the umbilical cord. School ended when they placed the child- this time wrapped in a blanket, back onto your tummy or into the bassinet next to you.
Approximately 2.8 minutes. That was your lot.
I hope you were paying attention ladies and didn’t just mutter ‘don’t bother telling me, I’ll figure it out as I go along’ because you know as well as I do, that
If you were a real mummy and listened attentively, you would not have missed the core part of the curriculum.
The Three Rs.
None of your anzy panzy subject choices back when we were students. No. If you knew your 3 Rs, you were guaranteed to graduate with a solid parenting degree.
For those of you rebels who, when baby was lifted from your tummy rolled over and slurred, “WTF just happened?? Get me off this soaking wet bean bag,”
I am here to give you a
Routine:
Think back to before the days of children. When you had a life. Remember? Try. Try again. There you go.
Routine will no doubt have played a role in your life. We all like a bit of routine. It makes us feel safe and comfortable. I’m talking routine along the lines of “Oh I always go to Pizza Express on a Wednesday when I work late” or, “funny how you always massage my left foot first”. That sort of routine.
But. You become a parent, and suddenly, like
The bedtime routine, and no. I’m not talking about the candles and Enya routine of old. This here is baby’s bedtime routine (if you’re lucky). Turn the musical thingy on above the cot, creep out of the door, stand outside the room for two minutes, don’t breathe, make it back down five steps. Stop.You coughed. He’s crying. Idiot. Repeat. Six times.
Then
The dreaded meal time routine. God help you if you haven’t got that high chair up and spoon at the ready, hovering, before 5 pm. Wrong coloured bib? Tut.Tut. Forget it. Just throw the dinner on the floor. It’s where it’s
Moving swiftly on to the junior age. Swimming. Every Tuesday afternoon. Watching other people’s kids flap about like drowning halfwits in the pool, all the while thinking ‘its friggin Wednesday. I should be having a glass of white wine and some garlic bread at Pizza Express.’
Bringing us to the teens. After all of those years spent perfecting the art of turning in early with a hotty (the water bottle kind, unfortunately) ready to bounce out of bed to watch cartoons at 7 am, the routine card plays a cruel trick. You are
Get a shower for God’s sake! What’s wrong with you?
You’re soo boring.
Sing! Loud. It doesn’t have to be anything good; just any annoying tune will do. Or, why not sigh and slam doors? Either way, you had better not be thinking of going to bed. You pathetic old git.
Restriction:
The baby years are restricting in more ways than you know possible. Be prepared. No more grown-up treats for you my girl. Yes, I know, you like to tuck into a second bottle on a Friday evening, but think
After years spent listening to the wheels on the bus for the duration of every car journey, the junior years bring something of a light relief. We are now, it seems, allowed to tune into the radio. Don’t get too excited though; it’s only to the station that plays teeny boppy music. And please,
Had you paid attention at parenting school you will know that the classification R on DVDs does indeed stand for Restriction. ParentalRestriction. That box set of ‘The Tudors’ that’s been sitting under the telly for years? It’s Restricted. Don’t believe for one minute that just because your teenager is in his room, doing stuff, he
Put it on.
Responsibility:
The word that sends shivers down any young, free and single girls spine. Responsibility. This one is just too laborious to bore you with. But know this. As the parent of a baby, are held
Babys’ head? Too pointy. Food? It had better be homemade. Drink? Those cups are bad for his teeth. Tired? Your fault. Hyper? Your fault. Clothes? Too hot. Nappy? Too tight. Poo? Too yellow. I mean…
E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.
As they grow into the middle years, bestowed upon you is the responsibility of arranging play dates. Oh, the joy. No matter that the last social gathering you went to was the sausage sizzle tombola at the supermarket car park. Never mind that now. You will arrange clubs and activities. Loads of
Arriving at the teenage years. Be careful here. It gets tricky. You will find yourself participating in the sick, and twisted teenage game of, ‘I think I’m going mental’.
Although you are still very much responsible for your teenager (someone has to be), you have to p-r-e-t-e-n-d not to be. Got it? To add to the confusion, when you do make them happy you will never, ever be given the
It is now your responsibility to spend every waking moment pleasing your teenager. Please understand, It’s what you were born for. It’s the law.
Better get the revision books out for the final one.
It’s on page 201.Chapter heading: ‘For heaven’s sake, haven’t you learnt yet?’
The (sort of) responsible way to keep a teenager happy. Ok. Here goes then.
Wifi. A computer, a set of headphones, a thick pair of curtains and a pile of food in one’s room.
In fact, just wheel the fridge into his bedroom.