Music to my ears

I did something bad this week. A parenting fail I feel rather guilty about (to add to the other 1000s of things on the guilt pile). Even my mum supported me and just said do it. 
 
I threw away my daughter’s beloved trumpet. 
 
At my suggestion she was bought this last Christmas my sister. An instant hit, my special little girl made music as only she knew how by blowing the plastic horn for hours on end. Literally, hours. She even devised a way to treble the sound by blowing down the hole where the “music” came out.
 
By June Mr Mother Fudger was ready to melt it.

By September we decided the trumpet needed to go elsewhere. So I took it to my parents’ house. Why should they be denied this pleasure. 
 
Last week my rock kid found the trumpet and started playing it with gusto. So much so by the end of the day I found myself saying: “Mum, I think I’m going to have to bin it.” 
 
“DO IT” my Mum said.
 
So I did. <Insert guilt here>

Even though Mr MF hasn’t had to live with it for a few weeks he was even pleased.  Not so pleased when I left him with my energy-filled daughter on Saturday morning to go to a NCT Nearly New Sale though. On Friday night he went out for the night. I say for the night and it practically was by the time he arrived home following several drunken text messages and a series of tales of totally un-like-him behaviour. Hearing him vomit at 3am after his arrival home followed by my daughter going downstairs to find daddy asleep on the sofa at 6am with the mother of all hangovers made me half really feel for him and half chuckle. He looked like he was going to cry when I came downstairs at 7am with the boy child but told him to go to bed for a couple of hours as I was off – as discussed – to the sale at 9.45am.

He said our daughter would be fine and she could watch as much Peppa Pig as she liked and drink as much milk as she asked for while he laid crying softly to himself on the sofa.

So off the boy child and I went. 

I went prepared, I have been before. Baby in carrier strapped to my front, rucksack of essentials strapped to back. I know the drill. Never take a pushchair, you will be apologising more than looking and those parents couldn’t give a shit if your little one is near shoved against a table/clothing rail. However, don’t expect a baby in a carrier will bring you sympathy or forgiveness.
 
NCT sales are fierce. Those bitches are hormonal and whether you are pregnant, carrying a baby or look like you’ve had less sleep this year than most have a in a week they couldn’t care less. If there’s a nearly new good condition Fisher Price garage for a reasonable price there may be blood. I even once confess I got a bit carried away when my daughter was a baby. I took her – possibly the time I made the pushchair error – and found some great costumes. Dressing up a baby in an outfit they have absolutely no way of expressing their hatred for. Of course. Manipulating their fashion and actions are one of the many pleasures of babies.

So I’m there and see a ladybird costume. It looks fantastic. Many a fancy dress party is had in a baby’s first year and this would be her next costume. Until this brown-haired witch grabbed it off the rail and decided it would be hers. Possibly. She was pregnant and didn’t even know she was having a girl. I heard her say “well maybe I’ll get it, it’s only £2 and in really good condition.”

I couldn’t stop myself and engaged this woman “with child” into conversation. “Ahh, my daughter would just love that and we have a fancy dress party to go to.” But no, she didn’t even take the hint and off she went with said costume.

I saw her at the next sale and scowled hoping her labour pains had been a little more intense.

So on Saturday, I’m picking through the toys, looking for some gems and happen upon a toy electric guitar. It works, has quite a lot of buttons, looks new and cost £1.50. BARGAIN. So it’s in my bag, along with a few other toys and off we go. Even the boy child only barfed once and that was away from any items I may have been forced to purchase. Success.

I get home, dump bags in the conservatory and greet my little munchkin with glee. I note a duvet is now around Mr MF and although his weeping has subsided the lounge has definitely been hit by the toddler bomb and the TV is still on. My nosey little girl then finds the guitar and couldn’t be happier. “WOOOOOOOW this Mummy” before I give her a cuddle and say it is for her and will go with her piano). So follow this with a good 30 minutes of “playing” the guitar and I now wonder if the trumpet was preferable.

Wondering about taking it to “show” my parents this week. They’ll love it.

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