Velcome back,
The Man and I managed an extreme act of bad parenting* the other day. In the interests of public health and safety, I decided it would be remiss of me not to share it with you, my faithful RRSAHMer's..
The observant amongst you may have noticed this Tweet.
Or, ya know, not, because not a single one of you replied to it. Whatever. Allow me to set the scene.
The Bump, twelve months old and deceptively logical behind her innocent facade, is in her Antilop. Which is Swedish, IKEA dialect, for 'high chair'.
Not securely strapped in. Despite the sticker on the bottom of the Antilop that warns against such idiocy. I know. See, this is where the bad parenting part kicks in.
Go on, call me names. Whatever you have to say to me, it's no worse than I've already said to myself.
OK, I hope we all feel better now. As I was saying, deceptively logical baby not properly strapped into the Antilop. Airy fairy mother (that's me) writing my daily list of sh*t-that-will-not-get-done, with my back turned to both the Antilop and the deceptively logical child. My airy-fairy list making is interrupted by whinging. I turn (thank goodness) and.. well.. I'll let the diagram explain. Click to enlarge, for the full, shocking effect.
Seriously. Really. Truly. I turn, and my child is suspended between high chair Antilop and kitchen table.
Ohholyf*ckingmotherofallthatisholy.
I don't think I need to tell you, I got there quickly enough to avoid permanent injury to the Bump. Just. Crisis averted by mere, fragile seconds.
Surely that would be enough for one day...? Not in the Purple House, it seems.
Fast forward two hours. The Man is in the kitchen with both children, super-gluing together one of the Chop's broken toys back together. The Chop is two and a half years old, and as cheeky as little boy's can get.
And, yuhuh. I said "superglue". I think you can see where this is going.
I decided, given the illusion of control the Man had goin' on, to sneakily sneak out the front door for a sneaky cigarette. Bad move. That'll learn me. I return through the front door to the sound of "Don't shut your mouth Chop! Don't shut your mouth!".
Ohwhatthef*ckhashappenednow?!
Long story, short? The Chop managed to keep his mouth open, and the Man manged to remove the superglue. Without taking any delicate toddler skin with it. Huzzah! Kind of.
I know. Extremely lucky, all four of us. Things could have been much worse.
And the moral to the story, my lovelies? Given that this is a public health and safety announcement, after all...
Always strap your child into their Antilop.
And never leave men unattended with superglue.
* And before any virtual knickers get twisted- I know, I'm not a 'bad parent'. Just had a day of 'bad parenting'. Subtle difference, see?