The Flip Side of Mothering

Or Why I Need a New Coat.

Is it just me? Or do you only realise when you're at the bus stop on the way to the childminder, that you haven't examined your offspring's face? I mean, don't get me wrong, you look at them all the time. But really examine? I mean, they know the routine, right? Make sure your face is clean before you leave the house. And clean your teeth. And at least wave something over your hair. So you don't need really to examine their faces, do you?

Of course you do.

Even for minor things, like sleepy eyes. (Although it is not unheard of for me to spot toothpaste, jam, chocolate or a combination of all 3 which dates back days). I have a real issue about those bits of sleep that get into the corner of your eyes. I prod at my own eyes with the fervour of an archaeologist and am amazed that this is one of the habits my son hasn't inherited. (Lord have mercy on him, he got my laugh. Which means that he will spend the rest of his life being recognised at a hundred yards every time someone says something even remotely amusing.)

So it's really only when I get to the bus stop that I have time to examine his eyes. And sadly he is past the age where he allows me to stick random digits in his eyes. (ah, those were the days). I am therefore left with the highly unsatisfactory resolution of pointing out that he has sleep in his eyes. When I first started doing this he would perform nicely, like a good boy. Lately, things have taken a sinister turn. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes, and then wiped his finger on my sleeve. I stared at him.

'What are you doing?'

'Wiping my finger.'

'What was on it?'

'Eyeball jelly.'

Eeeeeeewwwwwwww. I mean, just eeeeeewwwwwwww.

He has now stepped up the campaign of horror. Recently, I took the brave decision to point out the sleep in his eyes again. Then turned away to look for the bus, affecting nonchalance. The next thing I feel is his fingers.

Entwined lovingly in my hair.

I turn to stare at him.

'Have you just wiped sleep in my hair?'

He bursts out laughing at the look of disgust on my face, and chortles merrily.

'Of course I haven't, mummy.'

I breathe a sigh of relief, and turn back to look for the bus.

'I wiped it on your coat first.'