Helper Baby

Click to visit the Siren Stories website and read more work by J.J. Barnes and check out her latest novels.

Click to visit the Siren Stories website and read more work by J.J. Barnes and check out her latest novels.

My dear Miss Rose does love to help. Well… her version of “help” which is more like seriously not helping but doing it with so much enthusiasm it is cute.

When I go to the bathroom, she runs in ahead of me and lifts the toilet lid, then proceeds to hand me tampon after tampon after tampon, despite my repeated explanation that they aren’t required every time I go for a wee. If we are out and there is a toilet roll dispenser, this situation thrills her beyond measure, she likes to be in charge of handing me toilet paper. Once she made a swift dart towards wiping for me, but that was more than I was willing to endure in the name of mummyhood.

The fridge is hallowed ground to Miss Rose. I once attached a lock to it. She tried to open the door, realised she couldn’t and inspected it thoroughly with great concentration. She attempted to unlock it using the spring catch at the front but failed, so checked the side, yanked it off by the sticky patch holding it on, and then opened the fridge. Menace. I gave up. As soon as I turn the kettle on which, due to my *slight* coffee addiction, is a regular event she dives for the fridge and pulls out the milk for me. She has actually learned that mummy has the milk with the red top, and she has the milk with the blue top. When I go to make her bedtime bottle it is the blue one she yanks out for me.

I need to obtain a working child size vacuum cleaner. My purple Dyson is a source of much excitement. She screeches, runs around it, and tries to “poooooosh!” for me. If I let her take the hose she brandishes it with so much enthusiasm at anything and everything that I’m pretty sure there is an entire jigsaw and several hair bobbles caught up somewhere inside. Possibly a couple of pairs of pants and a sock too.

I am a big believer in “tidy up time”. Whatever we are doing and wherever we are, if we do something, we tidy up afterwards. At the pool she toddles off to the lifeguard with her woggle at the end and says “Ank-oo!” as she hands it over, whilst many just leave the borrowed floats on the side of the pool. When I order a cup of coffee she delights in delivering the spoon, milk jug, and saucer one at a time back to the waiting staff at the bar (who, credit to them, offer her a great deal of thanks and praise with each delivery). Between dinner and bath time we tidy up the day, and this generally is gathering the toys, crayons and books that are festooned around the house. Her tidy up efforts are, whilst appreciated, distinctly unhelpful and I regularly find missing items stashed inside the seat of her ride on truck, or tucked in the toes of my trainers in the shoe cupboard.

I know that it won’t be long before tidying up and cleaning are considered punishment, so I like to encourage her as much as I can whilst it lasts. But, that said, it’s somewhat difficult at times, such as when I’m trying to wipe my bottom whilst holding a clutch of ten or twelve tampons, or when I have to quickly snatch a wetwipe from her hand as she has been happily cleaning the floor and then goes to suck it. Bless her disgusting little self.

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Thanks as always for reading, and I’ll speak to you soon I hope!



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