Home Alone

There are moments of parenthood that are a delight. Then there are moments that are chilling.

“Turn the key Chickie”. “Open the door, there’s a good boy”, “Turn the key, TURN THE KEY!”.

By 8.30am this morning, after only 1½ hours of consciousness, I had changed four nappies, swept up the remnants of Chickie’s breakfast bowl complete with breakfast, watched three weetabix deposits form crustations on my clean trousers and was now desperately trying to negotiate my way back into the house after Chickie had turned the key in the lock whilst I was outside and he was in.

As he grinned back at me, amused no end by the sight of his mummy bouncing up and down doing key turning actions whilst screaming “turn the key, turn the key… please turn the key”, I considered my options should this become a permanent arrangement. Envisioning myself scaling the fence at speed to use my neighbours phone to call the Fire Brigade whilst leaving Chickie to housesit then watching the Fireman rip my backdoor off it’s hinges to locate/rescue the lone toddler last seen at the back door with a key in his hand, whilst lodging their visit with Social Services, my tone rose to hysterical.

“T U R N … T H E … K E Y … C H I C K I E ! ! !”

The Lord must have taken pity on the pathetic sight of a mother with her nose pressed up against her French Doors whilst her toddler smirked back devilishly with his hand poised on the door handle as, for the first time ever, he did as he was told and opened the door. Such relief I’ve never known. A delighted Chickie giggled with glee, no doubt planning a repeat performance of the brilliantly fun “Manic Miming Mummy” game.

Now late for yet another hospital appointment, ‘Clench and Stench’ required his fifth nappy change. Finally, we arrived on what seemed to be competition day in the waiting room with four women competing fiercely in the “Labour Playoffs”.

“He was one week late - he was sixteen days late – my fourth was one week early but my other three were all late - I had to have an induction - all I had was gas and air - I didn’t have anything - I didn’t even have time to write a birthing plan - I didn’t write a birthing plan as I thought I’d see what happened - she was 8lb 3oz - he was 10lb 5oz”.

Alerted to Chickie’s requirement for a sixth nappy change, I discovered I’d left his nappy bag in the car. Yes, my morning was just getting better and better. Unable and unwilling to go back to the car, I positioned myself far away from a now overripe Chickie who was steaming up the windows of the rapidly emptying playhouse.

Unfortunately, for both the Doctor and I, her office had no window and was on the ‘cosy’ side. I apologised for my baby’s somewhat fruity aroma. My day improved when we found out that Chickie’s blue lips were just a colourful and harmless addition to his complexion. It got even better when Snowy came round after our appointment to amuse Chickie for the day whilst Glam-Nan and I went shopping.