Hell is a coach load of other people’s children.

We went on a trip to Hatton Farm Park with Akra Jr’s nursery today. Admittedly, it was a rather optimistic journey with a 10 week old in tow, but we were feeling overconfident and foolhardy. Now you understand, I quite like children. I positively adore my own, for example, and selected other mini-individuals in small controlled groups can be quite entertaining. A 50+ seater coach packed with children under 5, though, is just not funny. For an hour. Each way.

Predictably, I didn’t get to see much of the park either. As soon as we got there, Li’l Bhaji required tanking up, so I stared at a wall in the restaurant for 45 minutes while Akra and Akra Jr started looking around without me. This was repeated a couple of hours later. It was a very nice wall. I also entertained myself by watching staff members almost making it to my table to remove my empty cup, suddenly realise that I was breastfeeding and veering off in another direction at the last minute. Bless.

I did get to see part of the park in between though. We managed to pet and feed various farm animals, watch a short magic show, ride on a tractor and a merry-go-round. Akra Jr even managed to get whole minutes on a bouncy castle before we had to trudge back to the torture vehicle coach.

On the way back, I had an under-two year old girl kick the back of my seat constantly while her mother was safely sitting on another part of the coach completely oblivious. There were a couple of toddlers throwing complete wobblies because they were overtired. The child across the aisle suddenly decided they needed the toilet and didn’t quite make it to our destination. I have a sneaking suspicion the whole trip was subsidised by Nurofen.

Still, it was all worth it. After all the day wasn’t for us, it was for Akra Jr.

“Did you enjoy the trip to the farm, Akra Jr?”
“No.”

Great.

Some news items just force you to do a double take, particularly after a couple of glasses of wine in the evening. On the front page of the BBC News site this evening runs the headline: “Man snaps and ‘hits girlfriend with alligator’ after beer runs out“. *blink*

Reading further we find out:

David Havenner, 41, faces misdemeanour charges of battery and possession of an alligator, said the authorities.

*peers into the bottom of her wine glass* It’s not April is it?!

It’s been a week of “suitable viewing” conundrums. I finally caved in and let Akra Jr (aged 3) watch Walking With Dinosaurs. He’s a dinosaur nut, but I’ve been a bit concerned that the series would be too scary for him – it’s very much a “nature red in tooth and claw” production, which might be a bit too much for a rather timid three year old. In the event, after carefully showing it to him in small chunks when I’m around to cuddle him through all the scenes, he has shown complete indifference to the great reptiles ripping each other to shreds – only showing impatience to see the next type of dinosaur to compare it to the plastic ones in his toy collection. This from the child who won’t watch vast chunks of Finding Nemo or Lion King without a shoulder to bury his head into.

Then I come across a conversation about whether Titanic is suitable for a 9 year old – the concern being for the sex scene. This strikes me as rather odd. Why worry about a very short scene where you see next to nothing apart from a steamy window and a hand sliding down it? Wouldn’t the deaths of hundreds of people be far more disturbing to a young child? The suicide? The scene where violence is shown my one male character towards “his” woman? I know that film took me through the emotional wringer when I watched it – I’d been aware of the story of the Titanic through a previous interest, but “seeing” the death and destruction brought the tragedy far closer to home for me. The romance running through the tale really was incidental. Does children watching death and violence become less of a concern compared to them watching sex? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Does the type of violence make a difference? Level of gore?

I’m not sure I have an answer, and I’m sure I have many viewing dilemmas yet to come.

I’ve finally reached that point where I’ve realised I’m not going to fit into my old clothes for a long while yet, Callanetics or no Callanetics. Problem is, I absolutely loathe clothes shopping (yes, I know … I’m a poor specimen of woman…) But, after much persuasion from my girlie friends during our night out, I have decided to splash out… via Principles and Faith on the internet.

All I have to do is wait for them to arrive, find they don’t fit, and send ‘em all back!

For the nosey, this is what I’ve ordered:

Spice 3 Button Knit
Red Embroidered Top
Neutral Stripe Jean
Chocolate Smart Belted Crops
Indigo Denim Jacket
Strapped Ivory Boots

Help, I’m in danger of becoming trendy!

… but very tired. Didn’t get back in and into bed until around 1am, then Li’l Bhaji was awake and clamouring to be fed at 2.30am! TGIF, that’s all I can say…

… to the pub with the girls this evening.

Don’t wait up!

Yet more proof that you pass out your brain at the same time as your placenta after giving birth:

• You refer to yourself in the third person, e.g. “yes, Mummy has a biscuit as well, doesn’t she!”

• You find yourself talking running commentary-style baby talk when none of your children are within hearing distance.
• You say to your 9 week old, “I’m just going to get you a dummy, stay there.” Stay there?! Where’s he going to go, ffs?!

Why oh why did no-one tell me?! Every where you go you are warned about the Terrible Twos, yet I have to admit I didn’t find them that terrible. Maybe I was just lucky, but Akra Jr’s tantrums were generally just out of frustration more than anything else and easily headed off by ignoring them or offering a quick distraction.

Three is altogether a different matter. Now it’s outright rebellion and battle lines are drawn. There can be no distraction. Time outs seem ineffectual (except when it’s Mummy who gives herself the time out – they’re good). Ignoring the bad and praising the good works up to a point, but nowhere near consistently enough.

I’d give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that some of it is down to the new baby in the house, but I have other friends of three year olds who haven’t just got a younger sibling, and they’re reporting the same sort of behaviour. Amongst mums of older children, you can just say “he’s three” over his head during any bad behaviour and they nod knowingly. So why is this the best kept parenting secret – do they think we wouldn’t cope if we knew? The only way to get through the Terrible Twos is to kid yourself that it gets better?

I’d tell myself it’s only a phase, but I’ve seen too many “f**king fours” threads on Mumsnet….

Just a round-up of a few things that happened today…

* * *

Li’l Bhaji had his first set of jabs today, well two of them at least. For some reason, as he’s having the Infanrix, they’re being staggered fortnightly. Today he had Meningitis C and Hib, in two weeks time he’ll have the DTaP (Infanrix) and polio, then repeat until 3 doses of each have been given. He did fairly well – even “experienced” mother that I am, I still felt like a traitor when he was sitting on my lap all smiles one minute, howls of shock and pain the next. Poor little mite is going to hate going to the surgery at the end of all this. He had a bit of a temperature and was grumpy late afternoon, but that seemed to clear away.

Not sure whether it’s related or separate, but we had a colicky episode this evening. I’m fairly certain it wasn’t direct pain from the jabs but wind-related. He was drawing up his knees, a definite pain cry that would lessen just after a fart and then increase again until the next release of wind. He’s finally settled now, but I hope this isn’t the start of colic again – he’d been doing so well the last few weeks.

* * *

Akra Jr has inherited the family trait of verbal dyslexia … or at least is going to enjoy a lifetime of Spoonerisms. I caught him today saying “chox of bocolates” instead of “box of chocolates”. I’m just relieved that we don’t own a sugar bowl… my dad once got a right telling off from his parents when mispronouncing a request to pass such an item in polite company – they thought he was swearing!

* * *

Finally got around to applying for extra child benefit. Just as well really, because according to the bloke on the telephone, the cut off point is 3 months after the birth and that’s … *gulp* … only 3 weeks away! Had a bit of a panic when I realised I needed Li’l Bhaji’s birth certificate and that’s currently residing at the Passport Office, but then found that we also owned a short version. Let’s hope the Child Benefit Office aren’t as fussy as the Passport Office…

Today was meant to be a nice day… well, let’s face it, I think we all hope that every day will be a nice day, but in this instance I had plans. I’d noticed that our local fire station had an open day today, and thought it would be a good little trip out for Akra Jr while Li’l Bhaji slept peacefully in his new pushchair. It probably would have been good, had their mother been the sort of person who could organise a piss up in a brewery.

We sauntered out of the house, feeling fairly smug as we’d got organised quite quickly for a change. It was sunny as we left. We found a new toy store that had opened up and had a sale on, bought a couple of items for Akra Jr and a couple of items for presents. Then we tried to find the fire station.

That’s right, it was then we realised we had no clue where the fire station was. Worse, I didn’t have a map in the car. After driving around half of Worcester in the vague hope that we might find it accidentally, Akra pulled over at a petrol station to buy a spare map to live in the car and to ask directions.

Enter the 20 questions by Akra Jr – this new thing he’s learned where he churns out questions without listening to any of the answers:

“Where’s Daddy gone?”
“Has he gone to the fire station?”
“Is it over there?”
“He’s going to ask the fireman?”
“Ask?”
“Will he be long?”
“Are we going to the petrol station?”
“Where is the fire station?”

Eventually, Akra came back and we managed to find the fire station – of course, no parking outside, so we had to find a nearby car park. The open day was a bit of a let down – nice enough, but not much to interest a three year old once he’d seen a fire engine up close and we’d bought him a plastic fire helmet. To add insult to injury at that point the heavens opened. Fortunately I had the rain cover on Li’l Bhaji’s pushchair, but he only had a thin blanket over him inside. None of the rest of us had raincoats or particularly warm clothing.

We run back to the carpark getting absolutely soaked in the process. Akra bundles Akra Jr into the car while I concentrate on getting Li’l Bhaji strapped in. We get the pushchair in the boot, get in the car and drive off, looking forward to getting home. It wasn’t until we pulled up outside our house that I realised what I’d done in all the rush:

To say I was shocked is an understatement. Every scenario that might have happened rushed through my brain. I felt and still feel like the worst possible parent to have put my child in that risk. Akra keeps reminding me that nothing did happen, that he’s perfectly safe, but somehow that doesn’t stop the what ifs.