“Mum get me a sick bucket”

It’s been a peaceful few weeks in the Ballantyne house with both children going to bed beautifully. Yet as I write this my 4 year old daughter is wailing from her bed that she needs a wee (she already had one) and she needs Mummy.

I should have realised we were in for it when she chose the longest and most complex of her books for her bedtime story. The collectors edition of “Wizard of Oz” which has pop up pictures and about 14382990 pages. Thankfully she can’t yet read anything with more than  one syllable so I edited it down. A lot.

After giving me kisses and cuddles then demanding I give her kisses and cuddles then asking for me to blow her a kiss to catch, and then blowing me a kiss, and then sending me a cuddle, then demanding I cuddle myself before sensing it to her…. she said goodnight. 

Five minutes later:

“Mum I need a drink”

I sigh and get some water. Now that she mentions it I don’t know when she last had a drink and immediately feel like a crap parent. I trudge back upstairs and hand her the bottle. 

“It needs to be colder,” she says thrusting it back at me.

“No that is all that you are having”

“Is it from yesterday?”

“No its from the tap,”

“But it’s isgustin,” she protested dropping the first consonant as she tends to do with big words. “It’s making me sick,” she says and then starts pretending to vomit.

I ignore her and go downstairs.

“Mum I need a sick bucket. Get me a sick bucket,” she moans.

I continue to ignore her. So she changes the demand and yells “I need a wee”

She is still shouting……

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