Mummyfried

So yesterday Little Miss decided she wanted to walk home from the park wearing one shoe and despite the elements refused to wear her coat. I transitioned from gentle coach, encouraging coach, firm mummy, scowling mummy to I can’t take the screaming any more, let her win this one mummy. Determined to draw more attention to us, she sang loudly, belting out her show tunes with the determination of a performer auditioning for that one role that was theirs since birth. Ok, she's not belting out her show tunes, they are mine.   The very show tunes that replace frowns, tiredness and scowls with sunshine, smiles, hope and Grease style dancing.   After she worked her way through Hairspray’s soundtrack (at only 3, her version is generally quite short. She doesn’t know all the words) She turned her attention to the Sound of Music. All the while, she carried her pack of cheese sticks in one hand as though they were fragile chicks. Each person we walked by smiled   or patte...

Ok, who was that soft around the waist and head mummy moron that uploaded a blog of unconditional love and baby blah blah 'she is so cute I just can't get enough of her'? Call the doctor. Really - I don't know that woman. Today I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and aside from the 'softness around the waist' issue - I was terrified. There was nothing soft about the woman staring blankly at me. I will never be able to erase that image from my mind... That woman (yes, in this sleep depraved and deprived state I speak in the third person) has consulted Gina Ford, Tizzie's 'Save our Sleep', and tried controlled (and uncontrolled - oops that is me, back to first person) crying.   I have watched The Nanny. I have consulted the Baby Whisperer. I have read and researched.   I have tried 'The Deep End Approach' (no dirty jokes here please, am too tired to laugh) - all have failed. I now use the 'No Approach.' That cute chubby ...