Parenting

It’s (not) my party and I’ll cry if I want to

Rupert can’t handle the holiday! He’s so exhausted that he fell asleep after breakfast so thought I’d take some downtime and share the magical moment of Rupert’s first full on dickhead moment. A tantrum that took a fair few hours to control and to my joy, occurred at a family birthday party. To make matters even more brilliant, most the people there didn’t speak English, so I couldn’t even laugh off or lighten the moment with some parenting humour. Mon Dieu!

Let me set the scene; a beautiful, secluded cabin in the Swiss mountains which was surrounded by lush fields and alpine trees. Rupert had fallen asleep in the car on our journey to ‘La Cabane’ so in his defence, he had woken up in a wooden shed, surrounded by a load of strangers speaking French. Potentially if I had awoken in this situation, I would of been a tad overwhelmed and grumpy. Rupert was more than grumpy; he was furious, and a little scared. 

For the next two hours, we were dealing with a toddler who was suffering from mood swings on a bipolar level.. Tears and grimaces into partygoers faces. For at least 30 minutes, anyone who wasn’t Mummy was obviously Lucifer by the way he was reacting. Once I had finally calmed him down to a stage were I could detached him from my chest (I actually started to wonder if the umbilical cord reformed), Rupert decided that the best way to handle this predicament was to run off into the woods. Woods full of nettles and thorns. Every time we scooped him up, another meltdown occurred followed by a look of utter hatred thrown in our direction. Fab. I’m sure we’re looking like amazing parents right now…
We continued with stop and drop strops in the long grass a-plenty. Attempts to smack me in the head weren’t well received. Thankfully food had appeared in between episodes of distress and I’m pleased to say that food can still sort Rupert out; an instant cure. Fuck knows what I’ll do in a food shortage.
However, we all know what happens to food on a wound up tummy… Within moments of returning to his lovely self, he decided to do a massive nappy fill. The beast was back. Now, I can usually cope with bottom changes solo, however, I correctly predicted this next meltdown;


Before you call child protection on us, the photo was taken in an attempt to cheer the bugger up! He loves a selfie and looking at himself on the phone. My husband took this as I was skilfully trying to avoid his explosion going all over the cream bench cushion, all the while singing Old McDonald. Clearly my melodic tunes weren’t helping 😳

Just as I was about to write off the whole party, my husband noticed a rocking chair in the corner of the room. I was close to researching toddler sedatives by this stage so this chair was clearly a gift from God. My husband a frigging hero.

Rupert was plonked down as a stroppy mess but ended up like this…


I can’t thank that chair enough!

And it was as simple as that. A happy switch was finally flicked back on and Rupert decided that everyone was ok, that bubble chasing was amazing and water splashing even better. Thankfully people realised my child wasn’t a complete diva after all.

Relief. Double relief that the wine and beer was now flowing. Cue two glasses in quick succession.

2 thoughts on “It’s (not) my party and I’ll cry if I want to”

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