This week I did something I swore I would never do.
I lied about my parenting skills to make myself look better.
I decided quite some time ago not to give a shit about what other people think. Mainly because other people have no idea what the rest of my life is like so I ignore their helpful comments in the supermarket.
Kindly passerby: Your daughter is on the floor crying next to the potatoes.
Me: Oh I’m sorry. Are the potatoes complaining?
KPB: No but she’s very upset.
Me: That’s because she wants me to buy her 24 packets of crisps and a bottle of wine that has a picture of a zebra on it. She’s 3 she’s not allowed crisps. Not with Zinfandel.
But today bolshy, gobby mummy deserted me in the dentists.
It was the bloody dummy.
Both my daughter (3.5 yo) and my son (2 yo) have a dummy.
Getting rid of the dummy is definitely on our list of things to do.
But so is seeing the northern lights, running a marathon and sorting out the boxes in the garage. None of these things are going to happen imminently.
Or at all.
Whilst the boxes in the garage can be ignored the dummy issue keeps rearing it’s ugly head.
The dentist said he could tell my son had been sucking from the shape of his bite.
This he deduced by looking in my sons gob with a mirror. I could have saved him some time by showing him the wonky bite marks on my shoulder but why spoil the fun?
‘He’s nearly 2, time for it to go.’ The dentist said blithely as he bandaged his arms and face.
‘Shit! Wait til he looks in my daughters mouth, she’s nearly 4. This is going to look bad, maybe if I accidentally punch her in the face she will not be able to reveal our terrible family secret.’ I thought.
(OK So maybe I’ve exaggerated here a bit for comic effect. I’d like to make it clear whilst I am happy to lie I draw the line at punching my own child in the face just to make myself look like a better parent.)
So I did a fib.
When the dentist asked I told him she’d given up ages ago.
Fortunately my daughter didn’t expose my mahoosive lie as my brilliant, wonky toothed son found the control panel for the reclining chair and all attention was diverted.
The dummy is still with us.
The thought of getting rid of it brings back memories of the potty training debacle and I’m not ready to go through that again just yet.
If anyone has any tips please feel free to pass them on or better still pop round mine and show me how it’s done.
I wrote this over a year ago, my daughter had a dummy well into being four, then she gave it up. The end.