Monday, 28 February 2011

Spring forward, five steps back.

I forgot what having a toddler was like.

He is not really a toddler, now that he is three and 'big', but he has a knack of making the shortest journey a reallly looong one.

It has been lovely spring weather and the sun has been warm. It has shone on all the murky bits of the farm which lurked gloomily in winter and have been caught skulking in a clandestine manner.
The dung heap looks dungier, the dark corners less frightening and the miscellaneous which begs to be hauled out and put on a bonfire.

Now, I know all this as our little boy and I would do a 'whole farm review' today. We would walk around everything and note what needed doing in order of urgency - not that it bothered the little one, he just wanted to walk with PieDog and Mum.

Except, he insisted that we took a bicycle with us - his sister's bike. The one he is not allowed to go near because it is big and it is her bike.

There is hardly an inch of the farm that was left untravelled with child, dog, weary mother and bicycle. Every yard of wellie deep mud has a tyre track running through it.
We must have walked for miles, well, I did as it was three yards forward and ten yards back to rescue small child and big bike.

"Please would you put that bike down ?" I asked through gritted teeth.
He flopped dramatically to the ground and threw a tantrum.

So we continued at snails pace.

We went so slowly that I could practically count every blade of grass down the track. I actually did some weeding on the verge, whilst waiting for boy and bike.
We checked the sheep - now out in the field - bike came too.

It was afternoon when he tired of pushing the bike - I was almost comatose but managed to put one foot in front of the other. If I had my wits about me, my foot would have been firmly put down and a 'no bicycles allowed' rule put in place.

We share a birthday and he has my nature. He is like a tiny version of his father and any of my genetic contribution had to be internal as in 'he has my spleen and kidneys'.

After his bath (he was covered in mud head to toes), stories, hugs, gentle persuasion to go to sleep, bribery to go to sleep, he settled.

There is not a part of me that does not ache after humphing the bike over areas where a Land Rover would not dare venture.

He wants to do it all tomorrow as "It was good fun".

I really am going to have to put an aching foot down and draw the line.

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