The trouble with toddlers

Eliott is officially a toddler. On the positive side, this means he's getting very clever and you can have a good laugh with him. He is at the height of cuteness and uses his big eyes and cheesy grin to wonderful comic effect. He's very loving and gives delicious kisses that warm me to the bone.

On the downside, he's gone from eating everything I put in front of him to eating only peas, cereal bars, raisins, bread, cheese, yoghurt, fruit (a major bonus), chips and fish fingers. All food must be served separately to avoid cross contamination. Certain foods can only be consumed in certain rooms, i.e. raspberries will disappear at 3pm in the living room, but are treated with the same disdain as rabbit droppings at all other times. Food that is unwanted is either a) thrown on the floor, b) hidden down the side of the highchair/in his hair/down his trousers or c) force fed to me/Matt/the nearest teddy bear.

Meanwhile, Eliott's style of toddler tantrum is usually worthy of an Oscar. He throws himself to the ground, forehead to the floor, and quietly whines, every whimper breaking my heart with the subtlety of a hammer. This morning at the library's "storytime", however, he made the most of his audience (row upon row of robot children, some younger, some older, some the same age as El, but all sat still and silently, patiently listening to a story about a mucky duck while Eliott re-arranged the book shelves and yelled "choo choo" at the toy train that is banned from use during the story session). I could have died. After the fourth purple-faced, screaming session as a result of his removal from the toy train (the final time at the instigation of the story teller) we left in shame. We'll stick to the free-and-easy vibe of the toddler gym in future.

Finally, daytime naps are so last year. As I write he is ranting around in his bedroom, hitting the wall with the plastic rod he has, once again, removed from his window blind.

Can I have my baby back now, please?

Last night, this morning

Last night I went out and got well and truly hammered. I was invited to a leaving do with my friend CJ and after promising to be there at 9pm we finally arrived, drunk and disorderly at 11pm, after drinking cider in the local and sherry in the Polish club (of which we are now members, in spite of lack of Polish-ness).

I pulled in the party venue. It wasn't very exciting. A man from Chester with a missing bottom tooth told me he was 26 and I said he was 45 if he was a day. Apparently, that was a turn on and the next thing I know, he asks for my number. I replied: "I have a husband! And a child!", as though he should have seen the imaginary neon sign flashing above my head which said as much. He told me my husband was the luckiest man alive. I told him that he hadn't met my husband and that I was the luckiest woman alive. Matt enjoyed that part of the story even though I told him at 2am when I rolled in legless and woke him up by being naughty (this always happens when I am drunk).

So it was with a legendary hangover that I crawled to Pizza Express for a family lunch at 12.15pm. I think Eliott had a secondary hangover as he melted down when the rest of the family arrived. The mere sight of a Bob The Builder balloon caused an almighty tantrum that resulted in me crawling back home with him, pizza-less and on the verge of vomming in the street.

After a long nap and a viewing of Calamity Jane he cheered right up and ran around the house in his sweater and nappy shouting "Bob!" whilst joyfully wielding the previously heinous balloon. I hid on the sofa with a cushion on my head.

You can see why a well-known parenting magazine have been commissioning me to write features can't you?

I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die

I'm still reeling from seeing Walk the Line last night. I have to say I found it more enjoyable than Bummers Mountain - and although I felt sad at the end, in the knowledge that June and Johnny are no longer with us, I wasn't traumatised for hours (I still can't bear to think about lonely gay Heath in that mucky trailer - sob!).

I mentioned to Matt, that I found it a bit irritating when June/Reese held out on ol' Johnny/Joaquin for so long. Maybe I'm just a soft touch, but when he kept calling her and then walked miles in the rain just to see her...well, he would have had me at hello. Matt wondered if all he'd have to do, if I ever threw him out, was stink a bit of booze, pop some pills and hang around the house incessantly.

Probably.

So I started off with Word Press...

...but I didn't like it much. So here I am.

The good news is - we're all alive! The lack of blogging didn't sneak into the house in the dead of night and nip my neck.

Knowing that the people who used to read my old blog aren't going to read this unless I tell them about it is liberating, to say the least. Still, I'm too much of a big gob to keep it quiet for long.

So what's happened since I made my graceful exit from 20six? Well, I had my first byline in Celebs on Sunday, the Daily Mirror magazine, my mum came to stay, Eliott got another tooth and a few more words and our Valentine's night ended in disaster after I had an allergic reaction to the pink champagne and went to bed in a fit of sneezes.

And they say romance is dead.

Did I mention that I hate first blog posts?