My stomach is in knots.
There’s a big interview in just two weeks.
It will be the difference between going out to work with my best clothes on, or staying at home wearing my crusty milk-caked dressing gown.
So I’m going shopping.
I’m going to buy the best, smartest, “buy me” clothes a girl could wish for. I’m going to choose the colours carefully and then get a pair of shoes to match. The clothes are going to scream “pick me, pick me”.
And they’re going to be in a size 12-18 months.
Because, you’ve guessed it, Frog’s the one on the stand. We have a little childcare problem, you see. So we’re off to see a new childminder. One who is open to an ad hoc childcare arrangement, where some months she’ll be needed for a couple of weeks while other months she won’t be needed at all. One who understands the life of a working mum who doesn’t work regular hours and often works from home. One who lives on the way to this irregular place of work and *gasp* has chickens. One who is available from September.
Childminders like these are few and far between.
So, while this golden childminder may think she’s the one who is going to be tested, we all know that, really, it’s the other way around. Frog has got to put on her cutest, most winning performance. Or she’ll be sent back to whence she came, never to look at another chicken again.
The problem is, she’s got a couple of new habits. They’re not particularly endearing. I now have two weeks to persuade Frog to give up screaming at the top of her voice until she has a coughing fit. That’s manageable I reckon. It’s the other one I’m not so sure about.
How do you tell a 12 month old that taking off her nappy, depositing poo all over the carpet and then rolling about in said poo is not going to win her any fans – especially of the childminder variety?