Small Pissed People
I had the pleasure this week of spending some time 'hiding in caves' with a three year old. It was a sublimely enjoyable experience.
I'd better explain, the three year old in question is the delightful daughter of my ex-girlfriend and the 'caves' were merely a pair of cushions, but great fun was had none the less.
This girl (I shall call her R) has been instrumental in changing my attitude towards the possibility of having children. I used to think that having kids was something I'd happily avoid but now, at some point in my life I can really see me having a child of my own.
Well, a daughter - I'm not quite sold on the concept of male children yet.
And she'd have to be intelligent and cute like R.
And presumably a mother would have to be involved.
But the point is, I'm no longer against the idea. Obviously the cost of raising children is ludicrous so realistically it would take a lottery win or, say, my getting a proper job to make it feasible, but I've been sold on the innocent fun that can be derived from these young people.
Toddlers I find are the best. You can have great, if nonsensical conversations with them, they have an attention span of zero and they fall over at the slightest opportunity. In short, they behave exactly like most people after two too many pints. Just watch any toddler for ten minutes or so and you'd swear they are pissed.
I once had the idea of going into child minding and trying to convince the parents and authorities that in order to better interact with my young charges, on their own level, I'd have to be really quite drunk. I reckoned I could thereby scam a bottle of single malt a day out of social services on top of pocketing the ridiculous sums that nurseries seem to charge. On sober reflection, the thought of poo, piss and wailing prevented me from pursuing the idea further but I still think it could work at a push.
Back to R. You have the best conversations with toddlers. This week I was informed, in very solemn tones, the correct way to refuse an offer of macaroni cheese. Do not, I was told, say 'No', 'Yeurgh', cry, shout or spit. Merely say as politely as possible 'No thank you'. That lesson being learned I was allowed to sit on the wall above the outside bin where only big girls can go. An honorary big girl - my parents would be so proud. Lesson learned, I may even get thrown out of fewer dinner parties.
But back to the 'caves!' 'Caves' are to be hidden in whenever there's anything scary about. The scariest thing used to be R's stuffed toy tiger but these days he's been reduced to running the grocers in the corner of the room, (I kid you not - on Wednesday I had to go to Tiger twice for milk and sugar). So scariness these days comes from anyone waggling their index fingers and 'making monsters'.
We hid in our caves, giggling and cowering, peeping and screaming, for about a quarter of an hour and it was certainly the most fun I've had in a long time.
It's so nice to be able to interact with someone who is precisely on my level!
