There was a time I had full use of both nostrils

I'm too busy sniffing olbas oil and sipping paracetomel based fruit drinks to write anything. Chickie sneezed in my face too many times for me to possibly have avoided my 8th sinus infection of 2007.

Chickie The Unmerciful

The other great thing that happened last week was that Accountant got a taste of 'full time' parenting. After just one day of sole Chickie charge, the cracks beneath Accountant's "skipping through daddydum" facade were starting to show.

Previously, before I knew better, I turned to Accountant for comfort after Chickie had been in one of his unco-operative moods. "He's two, what do you expect?" came the comfort.

Determined to be just as supportive as him, I sat chuckling to myself from the other room, thoroughly enjoying the girly sound of his pointless pleas for his son's mercy.

"NO!" "PUT THAT DOWN!" "STOP IT!" "GET DOWN!" "OW!" "SAY SORRY" requested to a backdrop of slapping, drumming, thudding and shrieking. Poor Accountant could barely keep up with his own list of orders. At one point I thought he might actually cry.

Of course, the three packs of Smarties I gave Chickie for breakfast could of been a contributing factor but hopefully Accountant learnt his lesson.

P.S. Dear Social Services, I didn't really give him three packs of Smarties. He had Weetabix x

I Want My Daddy!

The past week has been fabulous. Accountant had the week off and rather than being the horrifying bickerfest I'd anticipated, it turned into a nice little break for me!

I cha cha cha'd, foxtrotted, waltzed and quickstepped at my new ballroom class. I sipped tea and came over all creative at my creative writing class. I went out with my friend and her two year old to heighten the enjoyment of being the one not having to deal with a tantruming toddler. All whilst Accountant got reacquainted with weekday Chickie.

I took a long, hot, bubbly bath. I went out with a handbag. I wore heels. I wore dry clean only clothes. I applied make-up. I did my hair. I did my nails. I lay in. I went a whole day without touching poo.

And the best bit? Chickie now screams for his "daddy" when he wakes up in the night and wants "daddy!" to put him to bed and "daddy" to play with him and his choo choos. So the holiday continues for "mummy" who watches on smugly, not the least bit jealous to be second in her baby's affections.

That said, I'm confident by the end of this week, I'll be straight back in at Number One!

Stunt Baby

Nearly two weeks after Chickie decided to swallow a practically whole Babybel, I have finally breathed out. He hasn't missed a single opportunity to exploit my post-traumatic shock, even fake coughing whilst tucking into his dinner so he can enjoy the sight of mummy running around in circles again.

At playgroup, he's taken to licking the playdoh provocatively, his mischevious eyes dancing with delight as he smells mummy's fear. Taking full advantage of mummy's complete and utter attention, he's added a whole range of kamikaze inspired activities to his repertoire, guaranteed to shock. Attempting to climb onto the dining room table, swinging from the stairgates one handed, using the sofa as both trampoline and mounting block to tightrope along the windowsill.

He, in short, has become a health and safety nightmare. Wherever he is, I'm worried. When he's at pre-school, I'm worried. When he's eating, I'm worried. When's he sleeping, I'm worried.

On the plus side, the constant anxiety has lost me half a stone.

Fabulous.

Chickie Rules The Roost

Chickie's going through a delightful 'scream first, ask questions later' phase. Whether his choo choo has got stuck at the crossing, the bridge has collapsed(again!), mummy has refused to let him go to sleep with the Fat Controller or service levels have dropped to a shocking 2 second wait for his choc choc bestowal, he is not a toddler to be trifled with.

As I'm still in the 'very, very grateful' honeymoon period, I can't quite bring myself to deal with his minute-ly meltdowns just yet, opting instead for a cuddle and sniff policy.

Whilst I appreciate this approach may well find him and I featuring on Brat Camp in ten years time, I'm just so happy he's still having strops!

To all of you (Snowy!) who are going to remind me of that last sentence next time he's throwing himself on the floor or kicking me in the stomach, I don't want to hear it!

Let Go Mummy!

Life is gradually returning to normal after Chickie’s brush with a lump of ‘moon’ cheese as he likes to call it (it’s shaped like the moon, or at least it was before I shredded it all in a fit of dairy induced rage). After his tour of the ambulance he was merrily scooting around on his bunny bike with three quacking ducks tied to the back of his trousers, hurridly waddling in his wake.

Something else waddling in his wake is me, now that my neuroses has been validated by a near death incident, I’m finding I have a serious case of separation anxiety and can generally be found clinging to Chickie’s legs crying, “Don’t go. Please don’t go”. I think Chickie was slightly embarrassed by my excessive clinginess at pre-school this morning, as the helpers prised me off and whisked him off to play with the ‘choo choos’. Choo choos I was eyeing up suspiciously to make sure they couldn't become ‘chew chews'.

Normally, a free morning would be a blissful experience. A spot of shopping, a cup of tea in the morning sun, a chance to catch up on my 5ft pile of ironing (yeah right!) but instead I’m mulling over potential health and safety risks, checking and re-checking cupboard catches and counting down the minutes before I get to follow him around again. Even when he’s asleep, I can now be found staring through the bars like a stalker, grateful beyond explanation that my beautiful little boy is breathing in and out, just as noisily as his daddy.

For family members reading this, don’t worry, I do realise that I can’t follow him around forever. So I’ve come up with a cunning plan. Gorgeous oversized leather tote bag, lined with bubble wrap. Pop Chickie inside like a designer Chihuahua and Bob’s your Uncle. Short of a strap breaking, nothing can get him.

On a serious note, when Chickie was a newborn I did a first aid course and would recommend it to everyone. Whilst I found it hard to remember everything after two years (will be booking onto a refresher course now!), it definitely helped me to better deal with the unthinkable happening.

Thank You

I’m wanting to write something breezy and rude about my husband like usual but am not quite feeling 'normal' yet.

My Chickie choked last week. It’s hideous to even be writing it down. He's okay now and the sound of his gentle snores at night have never sounded sweeter.

So all I can offer today is the deepest and most heartfelt of thanks to God, the same to the paramedics - Malcolm and James, and to my neighbour Lynn.

I'm sure I'll be back to my usual sarcastic self before long, just not today.