Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Food fight

Terrible picture but I think it captures the moment rather well...
You know sometimes you have moments when you want to violently throw your hands up, storm out and fucking shout loudly "NOT MY PROBLEM!"? But of course you can't because that problem is in fact your nine month old baby, who of course you love dearly, but who right now is driving you fucking insane? Yeah, well that's me. Three times a day at the moment. Breakfast, lunch and fucking dinner.

Fletch will sit in his high chair for all of about six seconds before the performance starts. Everything and anything that is put in front of him gets picked up, looked at and thrown aggressively onto the floor. I actually just went to open the balcony door mid-writing this, looked down and found two menacing blueberries perched on the floor. Exhibit f'ing A. Anything I attempt to put is his mouth gets blatantly refused. Scrambled eggs, porridge, pureed fruit, pieces of fruit, vegetables, fish, chicken, toast. Bloody everything. Except yoghurt. Yoghurt he will eat. The only thing he will eat.

He has perfected the pouty head turn. The tantrum head smack against the table. The slam of the spoon. And even a 9-month-old-version of talk-to-the-hand. Just so he's sure I get the picture....Don't worry sweetheart. I GET IT.

Next he decides he's had enough of the high chair and in fact he would like to sit on the table. Which of course I don't object to if it means getting another spoonful of food into his mouth. But as usual, sitting on the table entertains him for all of five fucking seconds before he's had enough of that too. I have toys, spoons, TV remotes and the like at his disposal as some pitiful attempt at distraction. But of course, they all end up on the fucking floor. Of course they do. He'll occasionally dive head first back into his high chair or head first for the floor. At which point he'll find an unsuspecting blueberry and decide that ok, I'll give it a crack now. No hang on, it'll be more fun if I slam it into the floor.

Usually he'll then go for whatever I've got. Today it was my water from my water glass. His water bottle clearly didn't cut it, because of course my fucking water tastes better. So again, I don't object. As long as it goes down and stays down. And it does for the first few sips and then he gets overexcited and takes too big a gulp which ends up in him choking on his water, going red in the face, watery eyes, followed by a giant sized vomit containing everything I've just painstakingly attempted to fucking get into him.

He looks up at me with vomit all over his clothes, snot coming out of his mouth and a massive grin on his face. And all is forgiven. Somehow the frustration of the past half an hour disappears and all I see is my beautiful boy. And me, covered in vomit. I breathe a sigh of relief that it's over.

Until lunch, when we do it all again....

Shoot me now.

ps. Soz about all the swearing. Frustration levels were clearly high post vom this morning...

Wednesday, November 7, 2012


A friend in London emailed me last night and said "what happened to Tales of a Tai Tai?". She hit a nerve. A good nerve, but a nerve nonetheless. I've been asking myself that same question a lot lately. What the hell did happen? How do you become so entrenched, so passionate, so committed to something for over 18 months and then one day just literally lose interest? I don't know how, but I know it did happen. I lost interest. In writing, in blogs, in a world of no real faces, no hugs, no smiles, no tears, no clinking of wine glasses over a belly laugh and a chunky slice of cheese. I got tired of the commitment and the pressure I was putting on myself to blog. I became protective of my privacy, of my family, of my son. I wanted out for while. So I did it. I got out.

Lately I've been feeling the urge to jump back in. To write again. To start spilling all again. And my friend's email gave me the push I didn't know I needed. I don't know if anyone will even read this anymore but does that really matter? Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't. I don't know. What I do know is that I love this reminder of the precious moments with my baby, with my family. A way to remember how I felt, on good days, and on bad. How my story played out. I want to remember that.

And at the moment, that, looks a little something like this...