Mother's little helper

There is much to be said for Calpol and other baby painkillers, provided one is talking solely about the happiness of ones baby and not the condition of one’s house. The Spud has been teething again and after the last terrible episode I’m determined not to let him suffer. So, on the advice of the doctor who has said there are no side effects from baby pain medications and to feel free give them within reason whenever needed, at the first sign of discomfort we are dosing him up. The result is that we have a very happy baby on our hands at the moment. A happy baby means an active baby and an active baby means an Interesting Life.

Perhaps a short tour of our apartment might enlighten you. As one comes in through the front door, one finds oneself in a small, square entrance hall with a dark wood cabinet featuring two drawers and two doors, the contents of which are scattered all over the rug. The doors lol open apologetically while the drawers lie upside down on the floor, waving their little handles about like panicky beetles.

Straight ahead is the living room. On first glance it looks vaguely tidy however a closer glance reveals a litter of CDs and DVDs clustered together in a dark corner. There is a lot of electrical kit in this room but oddly, no remote controls, and the telephone cradle is empty and dusty, as if no phone has lived there for a Long Time.

The living-room adjoins the kitchen which also looks vaguely tidy. The cat’s bowls are empty but the food is handily beside them on the floor. The washing machine door is swinging drunkenly and the machine is empty except for a telephone. The bin is open. It is full of remote controls.

Back into the hall and straight on to the nursery. It is impossible to open the door as there is a pile of books behind it accompanied by the sound of a rampaging animal grunting and turning a lot of electronic toys on and off over and over again. This is an appropriate moment to swear.

Back into the hall and turn right into the main bedroom. As you walk in there is an open bookshelf with books on both sides, but curiously only from the third shelf up. The bottom two shelves are empty. Walk around to the other side of this shelf and one can see many piles of books on the floor, almost as if someone has pushed them right through the bookshelf. Who would do a thing like that, one asks?

The bed has clearly never been made as the cover is hanging off one side onto the floor. The clock radio is on but tuned to a station which strangely only broadcasts white noise. There is a large wardrobe with drawers in it. All the drawers are open and one suddenly realises that the room is not carpeted but that one is in fact walking on stray knickers and socks. At the back of the room is the door into the bathroom and next to that a changing table with a big shelf. On the shelf are a few stray items of nappy changing gear, the rest of which is carefully stowed in a pile underneath.

As one walks through the flat one treads constantly on little rubber things which on close inspection are corner-shaped. All the sharp corners in the flat are exposed except for a thin veneer of glue, almost as if something has been ripped off them. Something rubber, perhaps.

One is now at the end of one’s tether and so one grits ones teeth, strides back into the hallway and forces open the nursery door. Inside, amidst the drift of toys, clothes, bedding and ripped up paper is a small, squealing potato intent on some object currently under de-construction. Just as one is considering one’s options, it looks up, beams, opens it’s arms to be picked up and then lands a big, wet kiss on ones face. Suddenly, the mess doesn’t matter much at all.

Bring on the Calpol. Make mine a double.