woulda, coulda, shoulda.

My girlfriends (who have kids) refer to bad mother moments as “pulling a Britney” — yes, in fairly poor taste, yet all the same I find myself using the phrase “So today I did a Britney” all too often — You know those moments, mamas. The one time you decide to leave your kid crying in the hallway for 5 minutes, only to find her finger stuck in a door-jam. Feeding her from the wrong cup and realising she has a mouthful of Coke. Turning your head for a moment and turning to find your kid running for the duck pond with arms outstretched. We’ve all done something we’re slapped our foreheads about at once stage or another. I, however, seem to be guilty of doing something I swore I’d never do — letting my good friend Television babysit my kid. Now, I know a lot of mothers turn on a muppet DVD now and then to either get five minutes silence, or to get some laundry done. But these little patches of mama time have been building up do daily occurrences, so much so that Beatrix expects at least 3 half-hour DVDs in consecutive order every morning. I try with all my might to distract her, I play with her solidly, read books, leave the house. But the moment we return, she runs for the DVD shelf, crying “C! C! C!” (yes, C is for Cookie, and apparently that’s good enough for Bea…)


Careful, Trix, if you look away you might miss something you haven’t already seen 400 times….

Don’t get me wrong, Beatrix isn’t a total telly-head blob. I’ll have the TV on at night and she’ll completely ignore it. She reads books by the dozens and is a really independent kid with a fantastic imagination. I just worry about all the waves or whatever that TVs send out, Ross and my mum are filling me with fears about autism and all sorts of things that TV supposedly causes. One thing I’ll give Sesame Street some props for is that Bea can count to 10 and knows the entire alphabet (excluding maybe 5 or 6 letters) before the age of 2. I’m not sure when they’re meant to know those things by, but I’m pretty sure that that’s somewhat advanced.

Also, can we talk about this?

(Besides the brilliant, dorky Steve Urkel facial expression, we won’t even touch that…) when did my tiny little baby become this gigantic, gorgeous girl?

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