Aimee Horton

When you’re avoiding a job.

Feb
09

There’s a job I need to do, and I really don’t want to.

I’ve been avoiding it for about three weeks, finding excuses, pretending it’s not on my list.  It’s not a big job, it won’t take long, half an hour tops, but by completing the task, it’s the end of a chapter, and it’s a chapter that I’m not sure if I’m completely happy to be finishing. (See what I did there? bringing in the old book thing?).

Anyway, what’s the chapter I’m ending? What job am I dreading? Eurgh, I guess I have to tell you, although by typing it technically means I’m saying it out loud, and by saying it out loud, it becomes almost as real doing it. Ok.

*closes eyes and counts to three*

I need to throw the changing mats away.

Ok, you’re looking at me now as if I’m mad.  Haven’t I been banging on about potty training for like nearly two years? Haven’t I been GAGGING (or retching depending on where I’ve discovered the various items of poo), for it all to be over? YES YES I HAVE.  But now it’s here, now the moment where I can confidently say “we’ve nearly cracked potty training” is here, I’m sad.

My baby is growing up, and this is just the final straw which has made me a bit weepy, after all, it’s not just chucking two changing mats away.  It’s rifling through every handbag, and pulling out random nappies, half packs of wipes, and the odd dummy.  I’ll also undoubtedly find a pair of too small jeans or a t.shirt, a slightly orange spoon, organix gingerbread men, and maybe even a carton of formula in the boot of my car (I will totally find a carton of formula in my car, it’s in my winter survival kit along with the wrapper of my emergency Snickers bar).

The changing mats have been part of our life for 6 years. One in the upstairs bathroom, and one firstly in the nursery (now my study), and now stuffed behind our bedroom door so that it falls down every time we close the door.  They’re broken, tearing up both sides of the seam, but they remind me of my chunky baby, and his first laugh, his first red face tantrum, his first poo which shot across the room and landed on my knee.

But it’s not just the mats, not if I’m honest, they’re just the catalyst of the realisation that I have two little boys. Not a toddler and a baby, not a pre-schooler and a toddler, not a child just starting school and a pre-schooler, no. I have two boys. One in Y1 who knows how to do fractions better than me, and one who if he’d been born 2 months earlier would be starting reception (haha lucky Foundation Stage…you live to see another year). I HAVE TWO LITTLE BOYS.

The pushchair hasn’t left the boot of my car properly for months.  The car seats now use regular seatbelts…in fact, they just get in the car themselves (and open the door too if I’ve not got child lock on).  There is no shimmying about into iso-fix bases, no clicking into pushchairs, there’s no walking with that sort of egore way with a car seat hooked over my arm, the reigns are non-existent, and suddenly my right bingo wing has got a lot more prominent as I’m carrying children around a lot less.

The highchair has been in the garage for well over a year, and the stupid plastic was always a little bit creased table cloth is finally off the table…plus the stair gates, THEY ARE NEARLY READY TO GO!

So this is all good right? I mean, it means that I can soon replace my sofa’s so they don’t have an odur-de-piss…the hall and landing, they can be painted as sticky hands are finally understanding they need to be wiped (or use the banister), and Sunday mornings may actually be about coffee and papers while they GO AND PLAY TOGETHER.

So why am I putting this off? Shouldn’t I be holding a ceremonial bonfire and ridding myself of all the bits that have bugged me over the last six years, making sure I use the opportunity to empty the tupperware cupboard so that I can get rid of all the cups that are meant to be magic but actually piss milk everywhere? I should be making lists of what I can do/have now that the boys are getting older (theme parks, water slides, a three door car, somebody who can open my gin in a tin and eventually mix a cosmo).

This is all very exciting, but I’m a little bit scared that closing this chapter and starting the other, it’s about to get a whole lot more scary.

Pass the gin…I wonder if I can get Mr Aimee drunk…

 

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