She hops into the front room on two feet. So, I suppose, she jumps into the front room.
“Mummy, I done a poo. Wipe my bottom.” I pull her back into the loo, where I oblige: “One day soon she will be able to do this unassisted”, I assure myself.
Job done, dinner served.
She spoons in the ketchup solo and then eats one of the homemade mini-burgers, most of the spaghetti hoops and all of the cucumber (she loves cucumber and so, in a bid to tick one off of the five-a-day fruit and veg list, I now serve it an accompaniment to every meal, regardless – roast lamb and cucumber, beans on toast and cucumber, spag bol and cucumber, you name it). Then down go the grapes, berries and good old Tesco Value Chocolate Mousse.
Due to my tighter-than-tight budget, practically everything I buy these days is Tesco Value or Asda Smart Price and either I’ve managed to convince myself that it’s as good as those brands you pay two or three times the price for or it’s true and retailers are robbing us blind most of the rest of the time. Anyway, I have no complaints about their chocolate mousse and, at 26p for four of the little devils, how could I? I sit down to watch the Corrie I recorded last night with a pot of my own.
“Finished, Mummy,” I look over. She’s been plopping the grapes into the mousse and the stupid stuff is everywhere.
“Right, let’s wash your hands and face,” I say, carrying her into the bathroom by her armpits.
We wash and dry her hands and she skips off.
“Bloody Hell!” I mutter as I spot a small splodge of chocolate mousse on the cream carpet (no, I’m not that dense! They are; it’s a rented flat). I bend down and I really, really don’t know why I do this but I pick the offending mucky stain off with my finger, which I then suck.
A nanosecond later I realise, with horror, that the brown blob that was on the cream carpet and is now in my mouth is NOT Tesco Value Chocolate Mousse.