Chickie - A Baby Not To Be Trusted

Chickie is rarely happier than when prowling around his domain, lobbing his toys from room to room, making maximum mess with maximum sound effects.

When he began crawling, we thought it best he be reared a free range Chickie although a Baby Confinement Unit was bought for those times when you just need one.

Before the newly mobile baby was set loose, the house was Chick-Proofed and he was then given a full day’s training with subsequent follow up sessions, clearly explaining exactly what was off limits. Training took the form of shouting “NO” very loudly, each time he attempted to touch anything forbidden. The “NO’S” got progressively shriller and, I thought, scarier each time he disobeyed but Chickie just laughed at my deadpan, “this isn’t a laughing matter, this is discipline” expression.

I thought that, four months on, we had come to an understanding and that Chickie could now be trusted but, sadly, I was wrong. There was yesterday’s episode with the Christmas Tree and today, I caught him playing poke the coals (strictly prohibited and worthy of the highest decibel “NO!”) and he then went on to pull the table over. I have two choices – review the Free Range Chickie Policy or remove all furniture from my house.

I’ve put Chickie in his baby grow early today. I never actually realised just how amusing watching a baby trying to crawl on a polished wood floor in a baby grow is. “KASPLAT”. Pitter Patter Pitter Patter “KASPLAT”. Pitter Patter Pitter Patter, “KASPLAT”. (No babies were harmed in the Baby-Grow-Crawling-Kasplat Trials)

The highlight of today has been Chickie’s Power Poo. I always feel better when I know he’s empty.

The low point would be the seven hours cleaning I’ve suffered. Glam-Nan was right, everything I chose for this house is flawed. The wood floors do attract dust, the granite worktop is ridiculously high maintenance, the kitchen taps of impractical design, the glass shower doors simply not worth the two hours cleaning with fine wire wool and, yes, the hoover was a poor choice. All of these features compound my domestic hell and make Thursdays an unpopular day at my house.

Whilst writing this lying on the sofa, Chickie is stood by my side lolloping all over me trying to cuddle me. Initially, I thought this was adorably cute but am now starting to realise that Chickie’s motive is two-fold. He wants to play with this laptop and he wants my full attention. Sneaky, sneaky baby! He must get it from his daddy - I can see the same attention-seeking look in his eyes.