The night of the drunken toddler

Seriously, has there never been a comedy act about a toddler’s first night out of their crib?

“The Single Bed Shenanigans” they could call it, or in our case “The Drunken Debacle”.

…He wasn’t actually drunk, by the way.

But he may as well have been, the way he somehow landed asleep with his head in his pretend cooker, playing big spoon with a pot of Sudocrem.

My husband and I took turns responding to the “BANGS!” followed by groans and cries, me with a sick bowl by the bed, my husband with a sprained wrist, our dog barking through the night at every creaking floorboard as we all settle awkwardly into our new home.

I know what you’re thinking. Not much going on. A perfect time to try out a single bed.

WHY NOT.

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Husband wearing wrist brace for sympathy. Toddler refusing pyjamas.

In truth, it was so bad, it was downright hilarious. It was one solitary slice of time for which I WISH I had strapped a Go-Pro to the ceiling, just so that I could play it back it in thirty years’ time when he announces that he is going to be a Daddy and asks us what he is in for.

“You are in for all sorts of adventure… and not much sleep” I might say, and in a picture-perfect mother-son moment I’ll yell “ROLL TAPE!” and watch him chuckle at his devastatingly adorable 22-month old self.

It must have been a very foreign feeling for him-  it was his first time ever sleeping without either me or four soft walls for which to contort himself around. He took his newfound liberty graciously, firstly by marching straight into the kitchen when we were cooking our dinner … “Hiya Dada!!!”, and subsequently by crashing about but somehow remaining asleep in all of the below locations:

• face down under the radiator (warm but not hot, thank GOODNESS)

• sprawled open legged over a pile of books like chocolate topping on a sundae

• wedged between a bean bag and a giant elephant, just two little arms and two little               feet sticking out

The cautious-first-time-mum in me is still shuddering over the possible dangers that could have presented themselves. Meanwhile, casual-and-cool-Dad couldn’t stop giggling and drawing referencing to how our toddler resembled an inebriated grown man, urinating in the wardrobe and dribbling on his shoelaces.

We had literally dragged him out of the cooker by his feet, he had snored throughout. In the morning, his bedroom looked like a Toys”R”Us  bomb site.

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In case there is any part of you that is wondering whether we are going to do it all again tonight, the answer is NO. I like my sleep far too much to be flirting with the idea of another 3am comedy show.

I think we will make some changes… stick a pool noodle under his fitted sheet or perhaps just wait a month or two.

Any suggestions?

Yours sincerely, the mother of the drunken toddler, wife of the immature husband and owner of the dog who may swiftly be turned into sausage meat.

2 thoughts on “The night of the drunken toddler

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