Right. *deep breath*. I’m alive. But, fuck, only barely. I’ve just spent 3 days in the Waterberg*. Nice, I hear you say? WRONG. There were 7…yes, count them, *seven* children under the age of 8. Chaos. Pandemonium. Colossal mayhem. Oh. My. God.
Now amongst my mates I’m either called the baby whisperer, “the bad influence” and /or “Mad Aunt Dolce”.
The first refers to my ability to put any child to sleep. I don’t know how, but it’s possibly because I don’t care if they scream themselves to sleep, that they can’t manipulate me with their wiggling and whining and that, for me, it’s more about giving their harassed parent a break, than actually getting them to snooze. I can be fairly fierce. And once they calm down, the patented combination of a crooning song/softly read story and the ability to rock like a legend, and they are gone.
“The bad influence”, let’s be honest, is because I have the mental age of a 6 year old. I stick out my tongue, pull faces, talk gibberish and bang things against other things with the best of them. I’ve been known to encourage children to jump on beds, eat their bogies and share gross tales of slime and grunge.
“Mad Aunt Dolce” is because I do this as a grown up. I will crawl through a storm water drain (if it’s safe), eat an ant on a dare (slight of hand rocks) and bark like a dog on command (if it distracts a fractious child). Parents are both appalled and delighted. Children generally get completely past themselves and get wild and overexcited. They are told, in my fiercest voice, that they must do as I say, not as I do. As I swear at caterpillars and howl like a loon at the moon. The best part is at that exact point, when they are getting revolting, I can give them back and walk away. *grin*
But this weekend? Ggaah. One child had the will of Hitler, as well as his genocidal tendencies (towards insects). Another was his willing Goebbels. Another, who despite being very sweet, had a catty and wanted to shoot everything. Another was teething, and screamed for most of the time she was awake. Which was a lot. One refused to wear clothes. One chewed everything she got her paws on. And her brother whipped his willy out every 6 seconds to piss on everything, including a rather annoyed sleeping grownup.
They climbed, crawled, shuffled, bit, wailed, shrieked, poked, prodded, beat, wiggled and snot trailed their way into every single crevasse and hole. They trashed every room. They demolished every toy. They tripped and bashed and fell. They bled and oozed and poo’ed. Generally, they were madness unleashed.
And, of course, every time one of them snuggled into the crook of my arm and gave me a cuddle, I was lost again.
One massive prophylactic weekend!
*It was absolutely stunning though. Even if I was pining.