How do I get a baby?

Children come out with the most random things at the most random times. Today Scarlett decided to ask me how she can get a baby when we were sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner.

Aside from being annoyed because I had to put down my knife and fork while I thought of a suitable explanation for the baby thing (I hate being interrupted while I am eating), it also made me realise how one day I was going to have to explain to her what the real deal is with sex.

For now though I settled on saying that babies come from special cuddles between a boy and a girl. Satisfied with that answer she then asked sensibly: ‘What if I don’t want to have a baby?’

I said to her - with more force than intended: ‘You both make sure that you protect yourselves!’

Then I added that there was a lot more to life than having babies and she should live her dreams first before she worried about anything like that. For effect I added there is a lot of puke and poo involved with babies and then I offered her a biscuit. She skipped off biscuit in gob and I grabbed my laptop to Google what I should tell my six-year-old about sex.

I will make sure she is well informed on the matter in time but at this age it all feels a bit too soon. I intend to put her off ever having sex with what I tell her and show her. If I was the Prime Minister I would make sure that an episode of one born every minute would be shown in schools everyday for girls from age 12. I bet teenage pregnancies would drop significantly.

Back to Google and there are 163,000,000 hits for ‘What to tell a six year old about sex’. I would say I was open mouthed at that figure but that could be misconstrued, so I will just say I was shocked.

Babycentre.com advice is for parents to be calm and relaxed when talking about sex. Ok, fine all good on that front. Then further down the page it says: ‘Many adults feel awkward talking about sex with their child because they don't have much practice doing it and because they're afraid of telling too much once a discussion gets going.’

That is my biggest fear, telling her too much so that the next day she walks into school like some mini sex guru. I can just imagine being dragged to the headmistress and her demanding to know why Scarlett can describe the ins and outs of the male and female body.

I am still mortified about the time when I had to go and speak to her nursery because she was getting the other children to pull down the trousers and pants in the playhouse. And people wonder why I worry about her being a teenage mother.

Thankfully she is now asking about where doughnuts come from and there have been no more questions about babies, but I still have 162,999,999 sites to go through to make sure I don’t psychologically damage my child when it comes to sex.

Faking it

This morning my daughter caught the flu- child flu.

If you are unaware of what child flu is, I will give you a description...
Child flu is where a child wakes up on a school morning perfectly fine, then on the car journey to school starts complaining of a ‘hurty’ tummy. The child then starts to cry and complains that it ‘hurts soooooooooo bad!’
As soon as the child is home they go to bed for ten minutes before the sound of their VTech toy (no she does not have an iPad. I am a mug, but not that much of one) starts to play. Then said child runs around laughing without a care in the world.

If this has been the case for you today, you need to join the Mum Mug Club with me.

I had an inkling she was faking her illness, but the last time I thought that my daughter proceeded to throw up and poo on me at the same time to prove her point. So, this morning I was cautious and took her home.

Now I feel like a total moron. Every time I ask her if she feels ok, she clutches her tummy and winces. The Oscar for the Best Female Actress goes to Scarlett Venderpump. (Vanderpump is not her actual second name but I am protecting her name as this is the web. Vanderpump is a fantastic second name though. I borrowed it off Lisa Vanderpump from The Real Housewives of Beverley Hills programme. ITVBe is the best channel ever invented all those housewives and so little time, though I seem to find enough to watch The Real Housewives of Cheshire, Atlanta, Melbourne, Orange County and Little People LA and Atlanta.)

I am one of the most unsympathetic people with sick people. If you are ill, call me to let me know and don’t come near me until a month has passed. Sorry but you are yuck and I don’t need that.

Situations like this just make me even more hardened, now Scarlett will only have herself to blame when the next time she is (Inset HUGE air quotation marks here) ‘Sick’. I will not listen and she will go to school every day. Apart from weekends, though I think the Education Minister needs to look at that, I may have to send an email after this.

There are some obvious exceptions to the rule of going to school when ‘ill’. If she is really ill and proves it (with vomit, broken bones, blood or poo), then I will not make her go, but all in all, the dramatics and sad face will not wash with me anymore.

I could really bang on about this and REALLY rant, but Scarlett is currently chasing the dog around the house so I have to rescue him before he has a heart attack and he has to go to the ruddy vet.

Children and pets, who would have them? Oh yea, us in the Mum Mug Club.

Once upon a time...

There were three little girls.

They all had flowing golden hair and smiled like butter wouldn't melt.

Through all the day they played, talked, and screamed with joy from 6AM until 10PM (sometimes until 11PM if they were feeling particularly mischievous).

No matter what their parent/guardian did (I say guardian as I am only mother to one of them and I would hate it if someone referred to themselves as my child's mother when they did not give birth to the bowling ball headed child), the children would not tire. Apart from the youngest who would typically fall asleep on the sofa at 5pm just as the nightly dinner of pizza/pesto pasta/other cheap carbohydrate from the kitchen store was being served.

At 7pm all of the little girls brushed their teeth, still screaming, still talking and still giggling about various things and poo.

Their parent/guardian read them a story with gusto to keep them laughing as a last ditch attempt to help them fall asleep.

Little did they know the little girls were already plotting behind their backs like little annoying mice.

As soon as the 'I love you's' were said and the light from the bulb had faded, the little golden girls were up and out of their beds.

The girls parent/guardian crept up the stairs to see which little mite was leading the pack, but the scurry of little feet and laughter told them it was all of them.

One by one the little girls were separated and put into different rooms, the guardian felt like a wicked guardian but 7.05 was wine time, so although she was torn, she knew it was for the best.

For 2 nights the little girls have been separated at bedtime and the house is as happy as can be.

And they all lived happily ever after.