The World Would Be a Better Place Without...Soft Play

So I have started a new series without even finishes the other series' (seri, pleural?), thus keeping up to my serially distractible nature (oooh a pun, so early on, get me).

I know it's hardly world peace, which obviously would have a more far reaching impact than performing a mass cull on all soft play hell holes. But I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who's sat at those sticky tables, watery tea in hand with overpriced soggy sandwich in the other thinking, has my life come to this?
One eye on my phone desperate for a catch up on normal life that isn't in this primary coloured foam rimmed sensory overload, the other eye checking there isn't a toddler face off on the slide (why must one always insist on going backwards up the slide? That one normally being mine),

Now let me cast my mind back on my soft play story to illustrate the horrors of the world contained in soft play...
 
 Enter at your peril
 

 
 

Chapter 1: Baby Steps


I remember the first time I went to soft play; it was like the first time getting into a club after getting your first (genuine) over eighteen's ID; only much less booze but still containing lots of underage yobs and more than it's far share of bum cleavage (from all those mum's hoking kids out of that cushion lair in their skinnies).

There we were, a little antenatal group on maternity leave, excited to see this new multi-coloured world and stupid enough to bring a bunch of four month olds - the most completely age and development inappropriate group of younglings to bring to soft play. They gummed the unsanitary fittings and lay like discarded soggy chips at the seaside waiting targets for dive bombing toddler seagulls. We dipped them in the ball pool taking cute pictures of spherically engulfed babies to post on Facebook. Little did we know then that we had unwittingly entered them into the pit of viral despair and four children with rota virus quickly ensued, i.e. the most explosive diarrhoea known to man (this was pre rotavirus vaccination 'the old days' y'unno).

The Poem With a Crappy End (Weaning the Dustbin Baby)

***Prelude***

 
 
 

The second son is not like the first,
He has this tremendous refuse thirst.
No bin appears to go unturned,
As he thrusts them upon his nose.
 
 
It's not just bins either,
With strange foods he's an eager beaver.
Here is the tale of his tastes,
Which he devours with such haste....
 
 

***The Poem With a Crappy End***

 
Peas you quaff at and eject their rind,
Satsuma's you scoff and leave not even the pith behind.
You're a funny old soul when it comes to food,
And it seems not even the usual will do.
 
 
Yesterday, I found you with bright pink drool.
Was it the cherry jam on toast consumed?
Nay, it was the fuschia chalk your brother left about,
You'd gobbled it up, not wanting to be left out.
 
 
And what other delicacies do you like to nosh on?
Maybe I should turn to where the cat food has gone?
I give you credit, you have refined the pincer grip a treat,
Demolishing a king size pack of Dreamies is no mean feat.
 
 
 
 
You appetite not quenched, what else is to spare?
I see you've found the wipes that clean your derriere.
You mouth glistens clean, your breath with fragrant odour,
You scamper off behind the door, wrapped up in a tissue toga.
 
 
For what is here my sweet, is the most delicious of all;
The contents of  bin, for which you graciously bow and fall.
Every item lightly dusted with a long haired cat's down,
Now this adorns your upper lip in a moustached frown.
 
 
Rolling in the contact lens carcasses, you are filled with glee,
You have sourced used ear buds and snotty tissues for the bargain price of FREE!
Your palate now needs a cleanse, you search amongst some wires,
Of course live electrical plugs, what else could set your taste buds on fire?* 
 
 
Safely you are bundled downstairs where you spot my open handbag.
Old lip-gloss gummed, keys chewed and tossed aside, nothing makes you gag,
You reach inside my purse to find a crumbled returns receipt - Bon appetite!
Down the hatch, no more exchange for Mum's purchase regrets, she's now up s**t creek!
 
 
 
 
Now there seems a funny smell, coming from behind,
Could it be inside your nappy, there is now a poo to find.
A multi-coloured turd, full of wondrous things,
And eating all that chalk before, really did cut down on your wind.
 
 
Take a picture for Daddy and send it on Whatsap...
Is this what the government want to snoop on - a picture of our darling's crap?
 
 
 
 Looking for frozen 'normal' food
 
 
 
*****
 
So, there's my 10 months old weaning diary. Please do not do as I say (or as he eats) - he's a little guy with 'special' tastes.
 
 
*NB: The electrical plugs weren't actually live, that was just for dramatic purposes but all other consumed goods where Bobcat's own choosing's. And obvs, don't let your children eat live wires, amongst other things mentioned.
 
 
Who else has a weaning baby dustbin with the cravings of a pregnant lady?
Modern Dad Pages

The Twinkle Diaries

The Parent's Essential Holiday Packing List

It's that time of year again!
 
No, not Christmas.


It's time to pack your case for your holibobs - summer holidays are here!
 
Now, there isn't an inch of the blogosphere, magazine space, or newspaper articles that aren't telling you the essentials to pack on holiday; the essentials for baby, the must have holiday items for trendy young things, which fake tan is best...but what about us parents? What must we remember?
 
Yes, you need ALL these bags
 
 
Now with two kids under my belt (or under my sling), I can safely say I have only just mastered the art of parental packing.


First holiday abroad with just one stick on baby

I can pack for kids easily. With the precious firstborn we used to pack EVERYTHING.
You know the drill; a selection of noisy plastic stuff (toys), the massive baby bath, four baby outfit changes a day, nappies in three different types just in case they er, grow, get torrential diarrhoea or there are no shops outside of the UK that stocks nappies.

But now with two, we have got  it down. By got it down, I mean I still have ANSA-panties (Abroad Nappy Supply Anxiety) with a case lined with suspect nappy packages.
 
Think back to those days, pre-children...Do you remember, going shopping for outfits for summer holidays? clearing out boots summer 3 for 2 on suntan lotion, insect repellent and Imodium? (the last one is probably just for my sensitive holiday tum).
Packing your case, neatly, outfits for the beach, for evenings out, for sightseeing, even for the on-site gym? Even though you knew that was probably never going to happen.


Look at those smug child-free gits
 
Maybe it's the sleep deprivation, maybe it's your wobbly bit worries, maybe you haven't got the time or inclination to care anymore, but inside your case now looks decidedly different.
 
But anyway, I digress, onto how to fill you OWN case with must-have (and must not forget) items.
 
  1. A COMPLETE Outfit

It's easy to pack an outfit, but is it easy to pack a COMPLETE outfit? This is a rhetorical question.
I have gone on holiday with only one sandal, a going out strapless top (but no strapless bra, I know it's shocking, but it was my ONLY nice going out top and hence rendered completely useless by lack of strapless boulder holder) and many other incomplete fashion faux pas.
 
 
An artists representation of breasts post breast feeding (only less firm in real life)

Its Looking at Me: A Tale of Willies.

 

 
 
"Mummy, it's looking at me." My son says, staring down at his groin, his feet dangling over the edge of the toilet.
 
"I suppose you're right, it is looking at you," I reply, distracted by trying to accost the baby from ferreting in the bin for more used ear buds to gorge on.
 
"Now, he's looking at you!" He exclains.
 
I face up to see someone pointing their appendage at me. Luckily, this dingly-dangly has just been to the watering hole, else I wouldn't be quite so calm.
 
 
Ever since starting potty training, my eldest, has been fascinated with his willy. Compared to his friends, he has come to it quite late.
As a baby on the changing mat, he didn't seem to grapple with it, pulling it into contorted shape that would of made a grown man's eyes water.
He was never a 'puller' or a 'twanger'.
He always been very keen on wearing trousers, unlike my sister as a child as my mum tells me,  "she always ran around in the nuddie."
In fact, my son is so keen on covering up, even in this heat wave he demands trousers on and if I give him shorts, he runs around trying to pull them down over his knees like in some Ministry of silly walks sketch.
 
But now that has all changed. It's all about the willy. His willy. And of course the odd remark about Daddy's one and the absence of Mummy's one. Though the willy curiosity has spread further:
 
"Mummy, does Suki (the cat) have a willy?"
 
"Mummy, where's Nanny's willy?"
 
"Mummy, Daddy's has a big willy and I have a little willy... why?"