C: my life as parent (three)

My life as a parent (three)

A week of achievements all around. I got to see the Turner Exhibits in
my mad w'end away in London being me (as opposed to
mother/spouse/daughter etc) and went to a whirl of media parties.
Actually, that's a tad of an exaggeration. I went to my friend's
boyfriend's party, which had a few media types at it. I spent the
evening talking to two lesbian health visitors. Ironically they were
the only people that were even remotely interested in the Turner Prize
and all I could talk about was my son and pending addition. Ah, should
have saved the 'plane fare.

Dylan's greatest achievement this week was sleeping in a big boy's bed
(his own). I've been putting this off for months, although his bed had
been positioned by his cot, brightly resplendent in Bob the Builder's
finest duvet. I didn't want to force the issue on him and when I first
mentioned it, about six months ago, he was most reluctant, preferring
instead to sleep with legs sticking out of cot bars at the quaintest of
angles.

So I left it, ignored it and generally pretended to myself that there
wasn't going to be an issue. For once I was wrong. You see, I didn't
need to have any pretence. There wasn't an issue. I said, 'Dylan, d'you
want to sleep in your bed tonight?' and he said 'yes'. That was three
nights and two naps ago. He's only fallen out once, but at least when
he did, my biggest fear didn't come true.

I've been absolutely dreading the final demise of the fingernail. It's
been swinging this week, twisted around and about as a source of
amusement to him and shivery type goose pimples to me. Finally, it fell
off this lunchtime (instead of in the night along with expected
shouting/screaming). It dropped quietly into Dylan's crusty cheese
sandwich.

'Look Mummy' he said, 'finger's come off.' I duly admired it and we had
a cuddle when he became upset that I couldn't fix it back on. Then, off
we went to nursery leaving the nail on the plate with the cheesy
crusts, on the kitchen counter. (I wasn't allowed to throw it away - I
had to fish it out of the bin when I tried, such was his
hysteria.)

I got home to discover that the dog had eaten not only the left over
bits of sandwiches, but the nail as well. Not for my son the pot of
bodily accessories that his youngest uncle keeps by his bedside (it
includes verrucas, a long hair from a mole and teeth).

If the fingernail is going to have any effect on the dog, I hope it
happens soon as she is booked in with the vet later today. He spent ?45
telling me that she had fleas last week and I am very much hoping that
it won't be another ?45 today to tell me that they've gone.

I have not had a cigarette for nearly 67 hours.
I would have only had nine in that time anyway, but it's the principle
that counts.

On the way to nursery, Dylan and I had to return The Croupier to the
video shop. Bernard, who'd taken the box back two days ago, failed to
check on its contents. Luckily, no one bothered renting the channel
four sponsored film and so didn't find they'd got Teletubbies hands and
knees (or something like that); we were spared the indignity of a fine.
(Returning videos on time is one of our new ways of economising . . .
savings so far? About a tenner a month.)

Actually, Bernard's been making a good few cock-ups lately. He told me
the other day that he knew I'd had a shower because my hair looked
smaller. That, combined with this latest video fiasco and the fact that
he managed to convince me he had a treat for me - and then produced a
bottle of mineral water - have left a rather large hole in our
affection life, let alone love life. However, I do have to say that
this morning, when he evicted himself from bed for work, he replaced
his body with a hot water bottle. What could be more pleasant than hot
rubber between the thighs?

The finale of our week had to be going to our local pantomime. I thank
my stars that neither myself or my child are red headed, as the sound
of 200 plus children screaming 'ginger heid' at the bad witch was
slightly worrying. Especially as this wasn't part of the usual
joining-in, encouraged by the players. This was the children using
their own imaginations and such was their enthusiasm, volume and
staying power, the pantomime dame had to come out of character and beg
them to shut up.

Needless to say, Dylan loved the whole experience and joined in with
his version of hissing. 'Get back in your hole, horrid lady' he yelled
every now and then, mostly when everyone else was quiet.

I don't remember pantomimes being such hideous affairs when I was a
child. This one seemed to be weak and lazy to me, with jokes that were
drawn from an era ten years ago, dully repeated by a cast who really
had other things to be doing: anything, please God, just get them off
the stage. Maybe it's just me being older and tired. I want Dylan to
experience the sheer thrill of going to the theatre that I get every
time, but maybe this was not the best way to introduce him.

Still, the children filing in and out, hustled and reprimanded by
teachers amused him no-end and he did tell me that he wanted to go back
and see 'them childrens' again. We all have to start somewhere.