This is a (useless) skill that few will ever be better at. Essentially, I’m a king at shoving (yes, that’s the right word) stuff into the cavity beneath the seat in my son’s pram. I’m all about finding the right-sized gap in this under-pram game and plugging it with tins of beans, baguettes, and shampoo.
Parents today are, as they always have been, over-stretched, over-tired and over-come with the unceasing desire do the very best for their children.
Of course, in an ideal world, screen time wouldn’t be necessary at all. But please, take a look out your window, turn on your screens and read the news – it’s far from an ideal world.
So, can we all stop with this parent-shaming please?
In a former life, long before In The Night Garden marathons and synchronized bacon sandwich and Peppa Pig viewing sessions, I used to have a responsible job where people listened to and acted upon what I said. These days I find myself in the centre aisle of the Co-op pleading with my son to stop crying because I won’t buy him a full-sized carpet cleaning system.
Yes, that happened.
As a parent, I’d worked my way through all the stages that are supposed to be hell on earth: sleepless nights, teething, separation anxiety, having your shoes filled with sick… the whole gamut. And the thing was, that despite all the hype, none of these events was quite as bad as I’d expected. Like the worst type of film – all the best bits were in the trailer, leaving my partner and I feeling slightly underwhelmed to experience the supposed horror of the real thing.
It was with this (understandable) sense of over confidence that I greeted the my son’s (inevitable) turning from 1 to 2. It was simply a number, I told myself. A personality doesn’t change THAT much as the result of just getting a little bit older. What was the worst that could happen? After all, we’re just talking about a tiny tot.
HOW WRONG WAS I?