The Microbe’s head must be rather a nice place to live these days. It’s been ages since we’ve had any outbursts of Toddler-PMT. He’s been more like an e-popping 90s throwback, giving out hugs and making fervent declarations of love towards anyone and everything.
“I Love Harriet!”
“Mummy, I really love you, because I do!”
“Popcorn! I LOVE popcorn!”
“Mummy, I really do love cows”
“I love eagles too”
Of our two resident fluffbags, Harriet is the only one who deigns to be on the receiving end of micro-love. She tolerates dive-bombs, clumsy hugs, ear-pulls, wrong-direction stroking and worse with a sort of purry resignation. As a result I spend most of my early evenings trapped under a 3-way sofa pile-up with the boy and Harriet, all tightly clumped together amid a furry blanket.
No such luck with Truffle, who remains eternally out of reach of his ‘stroking’ hand. (G and I were therefore a tad surprised by the recent declaration that “Truffle is the best person in the world!”)
Cat-love does not stretch as far as sharing the mum real estate. If his eagle eyes ever spot me cuddling a cat, he comes sidling over in a shot:
“Mummmmyyyyy, I want a cuddle!” *usurps Harriet, unceremoniously*
“James, I was only giving her a quick cuddle.”
“It’s my turn now”
“You don’t have to be jealous of Harriet. You’re my number one”
“Noooo, mummy! I’m TWO!”
G and I discussed the other day whether he’s generally happy. My feeling is yes but, really, who on earth knows what goes on in the head of a mercurial microbe? One day they wake up radiating joie de vivre; the next they have wailing, inconsolable meltdowns all day long because they wanted the “gr gr gr greeeeeeeen bowl” rather than the “Peter Rabbit ooooooooone!”
It probably doesn’t help Jimmy’s sanity that daddy and I are such relentless teasers. Toddlers are such sticklers for accuracy and routine that the temptation to torture them with it is overwhelming. G’s old ruse of saying “the three little elephants” at crucial moments during bedtime stories is occasionally extended with other such nonsense, where we debate loudly whether James would prefer to hear “Donkey Lonkey” or “The Hammerhead Sharks Gruff“.
It’s also fun when he complains about being called Jim-Jam/Microbe/Horrorpants/nickname du jour…
“Mummy, I’m not Jimmy! I am James Flockhart Masters!”
“Oh… are you?”
“Yes I am!”
“Oh, ok then.”
*waits a moment*
*slow dawning of trickery*
“I’m not Jimmy!!!!”
Or when I trick him into saying things like this:
“You are a naughty little Microbe”
“I’m not a naughty little Microbe! I’m a good little Microbe!”
“I’m NOT a Microbe!!”
But he takes it all in very good humour, bless him. In truth the teasing usually makes him laugh once he works out what we’re up to. (Of course – it’s possible that all we’re really doing here is training him up to be THE single most annoying child at school. Um…)
Moving onto food news, I think I’ve now posted every variety of nut into his mouth without his head exploding. So we’ve been shovelling them into him at every opportunity. With that and his love of prawns, I am managing to get some protein into the waif. As for veg, these days it’s all about the houmous & crudites – he especially likes raw peppers, courgettes and mushrooms. Long may it last! (It won’t)
Well… I seem to have rambled once again.
Alas, no pictures today. For illustrative purposes, try to imagine:
- A ditzy-faced, flat-eared, pancake-eyed tortie cat purring warily as she is squished under an overenthusastic microbe;
- An outraged Microbe whose face is just beginning to register that his leg is being pulled again.