There are many things that nobody tells you before you embark on the journey of motherhood. One of them is the sheer indignity of it all. Throughout pregnancy you’re poked and prodded willy nilly by strangers (and not in a good night clubby sort of way). Then there’s the birth itself – nuff said. After that you spend a couple of years smeared in food debris and worse. Finally your children learn to speak and that’s when humiliation really starts to kick in.
My girls are now 7 and 4. They are really quite verbose. If I were to put a positive spin on it, I’d say that they were both remarkably articulate. They both have a talent for flinging insults which surpasses their tender years. The downside is that their advanced A-grade trash talk is inevitably directed at me. P2 ‘s development is particularly impressive for a four year old. Before hitting school she’s mastering the art of multi-tasking. She can move seamlessly between unconstructive criticism and bull shit with all the skill of a teenager.
Take this exchange for example.
P2: Muuuuuuuum. I want to wear my pink onsie.
M: Its in the wash darling. You’ll have to choose something else.
P2: You are stupider than I thought.
M: Excuse me! You don’t talk to your Mum like that.
P2: I said you were Jupiter.
Nice save P2. I could not be prouder.
Here’s another example where there’s no bullshit but plenty of attitude.
P2: Muuuuuum. Wipe my bum!
M: Just a minute I’m just helping your sister.
P2: Muuuuuum. I said wipe my bum!
M: Be patient.
P2: You are the worst Mum in the world!
M: Excuse me. You don’t speak to me like that. I am a lovely mother.
P2: Whatever! Blah, blah blah!
The pointy end of their wit is reserved for my cooking. OK – I’m not Nigella or Maggie Beer. However I am not too bad in the kitchen. My husband has survived ten years of my cooking and no one in the household is underweight. Nevertheless the kitchen in Chez Abs barely gets a 1 hat rating. After producing yet another gourmet meal complete with fresh herb garnishing P1 (the 7 year old) heaped praise upon Dadabs.
P1: Daddy you should go one MasterChef.
M: How about me? Should I go on Master Chef too?
P1: No you are not a good cooker.
P2: Daddy is a better cooker than you.
Mind you this type of criticism is mild by P2’s standards. Meals are frequently met by a much more scathing. “Its yucky. There’s no way I am going to eat it” or “That tastes like 100 bums” and most colorfully “It tastes like a 1000 bugs crawling in my underwear”.
Seriously! Rewind the clock back 40 years – if I were to have given my parents that kind of shite I would have received a swift whack on the bum for my efforts.
It shouldn’t surprise you that according to my girls I smell. P1 is at pains to tell me that my butt is not “eco-friendly”. Perhaps someone should slap a carbon tax on me. Nicki Minaj’s by contrast blocks out the sun and slows down global warming.
Meanwhile in world news:
In a stunning boon for sexual equality President Hawt’Bama held a recent press conference which set social media ablaze. Commentary focused upon his taupe suit rather than anything he actually said.
I think he looks rather fetching. Not everyone can rock a light coloured suit without looking like Richie Benaud but I think President Crumpet wears it well. It harmonizes with his youthful complexion. What was he talking about again? Oh that’s right just inconsequential issues like policy on Iraq and Syria. Back to the suit. If light coloured threads are good enough for James Bond (several James Bonds infact) they’re good enough for the leader of the free world.
Are your kids giving you attitude?
Where do you stand on the tan suit?