A quiet toddler is a mischievous one – My Mother-in-law.
What you are about to read is the frustration of a mother. Oh yes, I didn’t write this one. I didn’t plan on submitting an entry for this week. I had already informed Walter. I was just too swamped with work. But when you have a toddler, you’re bound to have a mother who is at her wits end, always nurturing, always loving, always on the verge of losing it.
Yesterday, she sent this in the mail.
They say: when a toddler is quiet, look for him or her to know where he is. At the very least, be sure he is tired and lying down, exhausted somewhere trying to sleep. My mum used to make such a fuss about finding my nephew anytime we don’t hear him creating a ruckus, and when I asked why, she’d say I should never trust a quiet toddler, for a quiet toddler is most likely up to some mischief.
By now, those words are meant to be like a mantra in my head. But no, I never seem to learn my lesson.
The other day, his father was asleep in the bedroom. I was in the living room watching TV. He entered the bedroom, and for a while he was very quiet. I should have gone to check what he was up to; I mean, his father was sleeping, so it wasn’t like they were both playing catch-up. The next thing I heard was his father shouting his name. Apparently, his son has emptied a whole bottle of water right there on him. On his shorts to be precise. You’d think the poor man had peed the bed.
On another quiet day, he had found where his dad hides his laptop. Oh dear, the laptop was a mess, greasy palm prints all over it. I just jejely carry am keep for him papa.
The position for my jewellery box has been changed because he has learnt how to climb the wardrobe, get the box down and play with its contents. I believe I’m still missing an earring. Now he’s discovered that there are other things in the wardrobe other than my trinkets that are worth playing with. Solution: find the wardrobe key and start locking it.
That did not work as the key is now his new toothpick.
He has also figured out how to open the fridge so the eggs had to be relocated. Somehow he keeps moving the eggs as he hums his 1-2-3 rhyme.
I keep wondering how our mothers did it. Really, motherhood can drive one nuts. I thank God say I never kolo, but I might be getting there.
Written by a mother at her wits end