The Chickie Show
Watching Chickie charge around the room like a Tasmanian Devil on Proplus made me wonder whether the After Eights we gave him were a mistake. Chickie wouldn't let us have any without him, adopting the 1 for Mummy – 2 for Chickie distribution method, so we were left no other option.
I had planned for my first born to be raised an organic, corn fed Grade A bambini, free of all artificial colourings and flavourings and whose taste buds would never know processed baby food and the evils of chocolate that have tormented me all my life. That was Plan A. The beauty of being your own boss is the flexibility, so I swapped to Plan B – give the child what he wants if it keeps him quiet.
Chickie has enjoyed a visit from Accountant’s Parents today who have doted on him unashamedly. Chickie has milked every minute of their complete attention.
When my mother previously pointed out Chickie’s theatrical tendencies, I explained that she was talking utter nonsense and my child had not inherited the drama gene prevalent in the less balanced members of the family.
However, after watching him perform belly slides across the rug to his delighted fan club, I realised that his breakdancing routine could be a deliberate attention seeking ploy and that he may, indeed, be displaying all the classic “look at me, look at ME, ME, ME” symptoms.
A game of “Remote Control Grandma” followed which went down a treat with Chick. He pressed a button on his musical toy and Grandma danced, he’d press the button again, Grandma stopped. Three hours later, and I think Grandma was regretting her imaginative attempts to connect with her grandchild.
Things improved for Grandma when she was given a complimentary refresher Nappy Changing course and got to take her first nappy bag home as a memento. For information, all visitors to Chez Chickie are entitled to a complimentary nappy changing session, so just ask next time you’re here. I like all visitors to be fully trained in the event I can’t be bothered.
We then listened to the popular debate over whether calling Chickie, “Chickie”, would scar him for life and then they would ready to hit the road.
I had planned for my first born to be raised an organic, corn fed Grade A bambini, free of all artificial colourings and flavourings and whose taste buds would never know processed baby food and the evils of chocolate that have tormented me all my life. That was Plan A. The beauty of being your own boss is the flexibility, so I swapped to Plan B – give the child what he wants if it keeps him quiet.
Chickie has enjoyed a visit from Accountant’s Parents today who have doted on him unashamedly. Chickie has milked every minute of their complete attention.
When my mother previously pointed out Chickie’s theatrical tendencies, I explained that she was talking utter nonsense and my child had not inherited the drama gene prevalent in the less balanced members of the family.
However, after watching him perform belly slides across the rug to his delighted fan club, I realised that his breakdancing routine could be a deliberate attention seeking ploy and that he may, indeed, be displaying all the classic “look at me, look at ME, ME, ME” symptoms.
A game of “Remote Control Grandma” followed which went down a treat with Chick. He pressed a button on his musical toy and Grandma danced, he’d press the button again, Grandma stopped. Three hours later, and I think Grandma was regretting her imaginative attempts to connect with her grandchild.
Things improved for Grandma when she was given a complimentary refresher Nappy Changing course and got to take her first nappy bag home as a memento. For information, all visitors to Chez Chickie are entitled to a complimentary nappy changing session, so just ask next time you’re here. I like all visitors to be fully trained in the event I can’t be bothered.
We then listened to the popular debate over whether calling Chickie, “Chickie”, would scar him for life and then they would ready to hit the road.
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