My Sexist One Year Old

My hair and my dog are both what you might call ‘unruly’. Sometimes I fail to control them. Last Saturday one temporarily blinded me as the other got under my feet and I went crashing onto my arse, in front of a crowd of roughly 150 people.

madonna fall

This was not the way it was meant to go. Everyone knows it’s pride before fall,  and I hadn’t been particularly proud about anything. However, looking back I now realise all that had happened was that destiny and I had got our silly little selves in a bit of a muddle; the pride bit was on it’s way.

The following day was gloriously sunny, and the four of us had a lovely time together in the garden. But obviously there’s only so much loveliness one can take, so I decided to plunge the bathroom sink. This used to be a job that belonged firmly in the ‘boy’ category. And it would be great to claim that it was me who’d voluntarily put it into the ‘girl’ category as a way of demonstrating to the boys that girls do these types of jobs too. In reality Andrew simply refused to do it anymore, pointing out that as it was my hair clogging the pipes, it was me who should be unclogging them. As the photo shows, there isn’t really much wriggle room with this argument.

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It turns out I love plunging the pipes! A bit like childbirth, it’s both gross and deeply satisfying.

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So there I was, happily plunging away as Andrew made dinner for the boys downstairs. Pretty flippin feminist, huh?

I felt happier still to discover that back down in the kitchen Andrew had even hoovered the floor. I was definitely at the ‘pride’ bit. And safely so I thought, as I’d already had my fall. Therefore I allowed myself a moment approaching bliss when, as Andrew and I stood by the sink, a beaming Raffy toddled over, offering me something in his hand. Oh heavenly child bearing gifts! I bent down to take it off him…

You know where this is going, don’t you?

The little darling had defecated all over Andrew’s clean, shiny floor, smeared it about a bit then brought a piece of it over for us.

It was gross. And hilarious. And really, really gross. And we only just got to it in time before the dog started eating it.

The lesson from all this?

My one year old son is clearly far more sexist than first suspected. This was obviously a dirty protest about mummy doing the boy jobs while daddy did the girl ones.

I fear we have a very, very, long road ahead of us.

 

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