Another week has passed, and guess what? Nothing to report! We're still in lockdown, we still haven't received an penny in grants or help from the Government. We're still drinking too much.
We spent the last two days trying to fill in a grant application form, which is so un-user friendly it HURTS. I'm going to stop myself ranting any further than that, as this isn't what this blog is about, but oh my God, this is the first time I'm on the receiving end of being directly shafted by my Government, who I pay THOUSANDS to in tax annually, and I'm not enjoying it one bit.
On a lighter note, Nel's continued to offer light relief from the real world, in the form of being a little comedian.
I'd taken her downstairs one morning, and removed her nappy because it was wet. This, right here, is where I went wrong. We were indoors and she isn't toilet trained. So, all these mothers who do it "right" presumably at this point, put a new nappy on. Did I do that? Did I fuck.
So she's running about, having a whale of a time. For some unknown reason, we have an ab roller (a small wheel with handles on; it's for exercise apparently). I rolled it across the living room, and we were laughing together, watching as it went out the door and turned round a corner on its own. Nel was laughing, and I was laughing with her, until I noticed that the laughter-filled expression on her face, was slowly changing to that of concentration, and straining. I promptly stopped my own laughter, shouting "STOP STOP NO NO NO!". Realising it was too late to wrestle her into a nappy, I picked her up and ran to the bathroom, holding her above the massive drop, letting her tiny bottom dangle over. But it was too late. Instead, we'd managed to create a trail of jobbies from the living room, through the hallway and into the bathroom.
I'd gone and cleaned it all up, however, I kept seeing little brown marks on the floor, and I could still smell it. I kept thinking to myself "I swear I cleaned this all up already". Eventually I checked the bottom of her socks, and of course, there was a big dod of shite on the bottom of them both. I can't help but laugh, even though I'm despairing inside. I really hope she doesn't catch on too much and start thinking this is a great party trick for when she eventually returns to nursery.
The other day I was waiting for her to wake from her nap. It was raining outside and I was just having one of those days where I was feeling so deflated and out of ideas for what to do with her. In a Covid - free world (remember those times???) I'd have taken her to play with other baby pals, or to soft play, or even just the park. But as we all know, this new strange reality can get a bit waring on most adults, and I think it's safe to say all of us have days where our mental health feels a bit wobbly because of it. Well this was one of those days. I'd exhausted the painting, the swing, the Play-Doh, so I decided to bake some cheese scones with her.
It was such a stressful experience. I really wouldn't recommend baking with a controlling / mental toddler. She kept wanting to eat pure baking soda, lick raw egg yolk, and eat all the grated cheese rather than putting it in the mix. When it came to stirring, she wouldn't let me near the spoon or the bowl; adamant that she could do it herself.
Obviously, she can't do it herself, she's not even 2, and it was a total fucking mess. I managed to eventually get everything mixed together, and then I rolled it into balls, and gave them to her to drop into a muffin tray. At this point, everything is fine. She's making a total mess but loving it. But then we had to put the scones in the oven. She went absolutely tits.
I don't know if it's because she knows the oven as a scary thing, that she isn't allowed to touch, and her cheesy creations were being put in there without her say so, but she had a melt down. Like full on toddler melt down, face on the floor, kicking, screaming.
Luckily Sam appeared and saw the kitchen, myself and the toddler covered in flour, and swiftly removed her from the house to take her on a walk. I'm so lucky I've got him for backup. At this point, crawling in the oven with the cheese scones seemed more peaceful than continuing. But I guess it's to be expected when learning how to parent a small person who has no comprehension of why the fuck we're even making cheese scones, never mind putting them in the oven. To be honest, not even I knew why we were; I didn't even want them, I just wanted to keep her entertained. And now Sam and I have eaten 12 cheese scones between us, because of course Nel didn't want to eat them cooked, just RAW.
But she does enjoy drinking spinach juice like a psychopath?
The rest of the week was cute, no more shit in unwanted places, and definitely no more baking.
We took Nel to the beach and she was a pure delight. She loves running around, throwing rocks into the water, and killing herself laughing at the noise it makes.
We also discovered that there's a gorgeous woodland RIGHT BEHIND OUR HOUSE which we never knew existed. So that's good to know, rather than driving to other places we've exhausted with our daily walking allowance.
So that draws another week of isolation to a close. I'll write again soon, and I'm sure it'll be pretty much the same shit. I didn't drink on Sunday this weekend. Isn't that marvellous progress? The forecast for this week is absolutely stunning so I'm sure I'll be back to my old ways soon enough!
I'll leave you with this photo of Nel on Sam's shoulders after sitting in a puddle at the beach. Rather brave, considering "Shit Socks" happened earlier that morning.