New kid on the block

Mummy is very excited because Mummy has now become an Auntie!! There is a brand new shiny baby on the scene and he is delicious and tiny and quiet and snuggly. He doesn’t have knees and elbows that climb all over you, he doesn’t throw food on the floor that you’ve taken hours to prepare, or shout “No Mummy!” and run away when you try to change his nappy. He doesn’t try to brush his hair with the toothbrush covered in toothpaste, or clean his ears with breadsticks, and he hasn’t yet worked out that if he’s very very quiet, he can transport all of his cuddly toys one by one into the bathroom and drop them in the water while Mummy is running a bath. He pretty much perfect in every way and Mummy is going to enjoy all the lovely baby cuddles she can.

Rebel Baby is not at all happy about having been usurped. Whilst she was initially delighted to meet what she mistook for a new toy, and wanted very much to stroke, cuddle, poke and prod the new arrival, her interest soon wore off when she realised he didn’t do very much. She also didn’t like every shouting at her to “BE GENTLE!” when she was clearly only trying to give him her VERY BEST and most enthusiastic loving kisses.  She wasn’t mad keen on Mummy having a different baby on her lap, but everyone talked lots about sharing and gave her plenty of attention, and she just about managed to be cool with sharing her very own Mummy. 

However, now The Baby has nicked her sunglasses, and this is the final straw. Mummies are one thing. Accessories are a-whole-nother playing field. And he looks so damn good in them too.

There’s only so much a girl can take…

Faux pas

Mummy: Darling! I’ve bought you some slippers to stop you slipping over on the shiny floor all the time! They were in the sale…

Rebel Baby: Double stripes and thigh-high pink with cat faces Mummy? Seriously, what on actual earth are you playing at?!

Disbelief

For three days, The Baby has been very poorly with a chest infection. She has laid on the sofa wheezing, with no energy, coughing up foul gunge from time to time.

Naturally, Mummy persuaded Daddy the chest infection was because Mummy had not purchased a beautiful little coat she saw that was deemed too expensive and unnecessary (owing to the many coats and snowsuits The Baby already owns) and has used The Baby’s illness to procure said coat. Result.

But for three days, the Poorly One has managed little more than lifting her head from Mummy’s chest to cough more directly in her face, and has been laid up watching episodes of The (bloody irritating) Wiggles back to back from dawn ’til dusk.

Now The Baby is better, and such activity is no longer required. Rebel Baby does not accept this: she has assumed her seat on the sofa and is waiting expectantly for her beloved Wiggles to appear.

The screen remains blank.

The brow becomes increasingly furrowed.

“No,” says Mummy. “We don’t need The Wiggles today. You are better!”

Rebel Baby is confused. The Wiggles are her friends.

She is waiting. It’s been some time already but she will hold out.

It’s going to be a long wait…

Told you so

“Don’t climb on things,” said Mummy. “You are too little and you get stuck and cry.”

Did Rebel Baby listen? Did she hell.

Now she is stuck in the magazine rack, trying to climb up and touch the Holy Grail of breakable items: Daddy’s TV. It is especially good to touch as it has bleepy buttons and it sometimes talks to you. Rebel Baby knows this and likes to touch it very much,

But now she is stuck.

She is stuck and Mummy was right, except for one thing: Rebel Baby is too stubborn to cry. She will not give Mummy the satisfaction of being completely right.

Instead, she will look at Mummy with pleading eyes and make strange little chirpy noises.

Mummy will help… maybe. In a minute.

On a mission

Mummy let The Baby get out of the pushchair in Piries’ Place because, now The Baby can walk, The Baby thinks she gets to walk everywhere and is above pushchairs. Which is annoying due to her incredibly slow tottering and tendency to wander off in the direction of danger at any given opportunity.

As soon as her little feet hit the concrete, Rebel Baby strides purposefully off in the opposite direction to where Mummy was headed. As Mummy has time and is feeling exceptionally generous and slightly intrigued as to where exactly the Little One might venture, on this occasion Mummy follows.

Rebel Baby knows EXACTLY where she is going.

She walks down the alley and into the Carfax (obviously Mummy helps her cross the road!) She crosses the Carfax and walks through the shopping centre. She takes the cut-through towards Sainsburys, turns right at the bridge and follows the footpath to the park. She doesn’t hesitate. She doesn’t wait to see if Mummy is following. She pauses briefly at the buskers – who she loves and normally stops to dance to – but on this occasion she is on a mission.

Only when she arrives at the gate to the park does she stop, to point for it to be opened. In she walks, straight to the see-saw. She reaches up to be put on one end and points to Mummy to sit on the other end.

Mummy doesn’t know why Daddy calls her the Little Dictator.

Mummy gets on the see-saw and goes up and down.

Rebel Baby shouts at Mummy because Mummy is not singing The Song.

Mummy sings the song and goes up and down.

Mission accomplished.

Testing patience

Mummy has always been quite pleased the The Baby eats most food. Mummy credits her experimental cooking and commitment to eating a terrible diet right from the point of conception for the fact that The Baby really does have very low standards when it comes to food. Generally, most things have been inhaled quite happily and gummed with gusto. Taste and texture is of little consequence – Rebel Baby has always favoured quantity over quality and speed over style, when it comes to dining.

Not any longer.

Now, Rebel Baby likes bread. And bananas. And that is all.

Today Mummy has made some rather sad attempts to hide things in the bread, but Rebel Baby has found them. And she was Not. Pleased.

Mummy has done singing and dancing and acrobatics to trick some vegetables into the little one’s mouth, and she succeeded a couple of times by way of an open-mouthed giggle that gave Mummy a sneaky carrot-opportunity. Rebel Baby was outraged.

Now, lest she should fall for the same trickery a third time, Rebel Baby is taking no chances. She has wedged a large piece of bread in her mouth to keep her safe while she painstakingly goes through every morsel of dinner, discarding from the plate in disgust until there is nothing left. This clever ploy leaves not a millimetre of room for Mummy to sneak any pesky peas in while The Baby is distracted. Only then, when the coast is clear, does she remove the bread to eat it in safety, satisfied that she has made her position on the matter quite clear.

RB has won. Again. Bugger.