It was only a matter of time before my parental angst bit me on the backside. Almost literally, when an insistent hand started pulling at my jeans.
I should have known better than to ask why. “I’m smelling your bottom to see if you’ve had a poo Mummy.”
“Oh I see. What do you think Raffie?”
“Yes, and your nappy needs changing.”
And with that, my vaulting Yummy Mummy ambition finally put down her lipgloss, packed her Orla Kiely change bag and closed the door behind her. I don’t think we’ll be seeing her again.
Watching her leave however, I realised that no angst is an island. If I’m not worrying about what how much he’s eating then I’m worried about what kind of food he does. If I’m not worrying about Raffie having enough poos then I’m worried about him having too many and waving him in the air to check his bottom.
In short, worry runs through me like a stick of rock. The dream was of an easygoing, yummy mummy. The reality is a relentless stream of new things I can agonise about while trying to wrestle my mascara from a toddler. And unfortunately the anxious apple hasn’t fallen from the tree.
Raffie comes with me to the toilet. Partly as he’s too little to be left alone downstairs, and partly because we are on the cusp of potty training. “Here is your paper Mummy, you must have some paper,” I am told, while handing me a postage stamp sized corner of toilet tissue. “You need to put it down the toilet,” he tells me before flushing the loo whether I’m still there or not.
“Now you need to clean your teeth Mummy. Do the back.” “Yes thank you, will do.”
And then we have to put on our make-up. “Look, I putting on make-up like Mummy,” he beams, while rubbing his face with the dishcloth. “Yes Raffie, thank you, that’s just like Mummy.”
Unsuprisingly our morning ablutions leave me feeling less than glowing. But I am beginning to realise that fretting is infectious. So perhaps it’s time to take the plunge, ditch the nappies, start potty training and flush my worries away with the much anticipated contents. And last but by no means least, buy a tighter pair of jeans.