This is a nice photo.
Everything on Instagram is nice. Sometimes I almost think I could be a photographer, or at least someone with a lovely lifestyle blog full of beautiful soft-focus shots of their immaculate home full of spotless white furniture and inspirational quotes.
However, as we all know, life doesn’t come packaged up neatly in an Instagram-ready box, with all imperfections filtered out. So here’s the real story behind this photo.*
1.) It was taken in the pub. Yes, I took my toddler to the pub! Unhand me now O officers of social services, for I had but one one glass of wine. And it took hours to drink that, due to intermittently abandoning said wine to chase a toddler around.
2.) Yes, Piglet ran around in the pub. I am the mother whose toddler runs riot in a drinking establishment. Gone are the days when we used to sit in the corner of the local after work on a Friday afternoon and swear that we would never be those raucous parents at the bar, allowing their children free rein over the dry roasted peanuts and the “lounge bar” whilst they cackle over their Bacardi and Coke.
3.) As he has spent so much time running around a pub, Piglet has been exposed to a lot of swearing and bad language (NOT FROM ME OR MY COMPANIONS OR RELATIVES, I mean from others in the pub, just casually dropping an F-bomb here or there, in the context of their pub bantz, innit). I am now convinced that his second word (he can already say “ball”-well done) will be something I don’t approve of, like “Noel Edmonds” (see below).
3.) In a bid to stop him running around (and to give me a welcome break from chasing him), I introduced Piglet to the fruit machines. Not to play with actual money, obvs, but it can’t be far off, as he is now OBSESSED. There is a future as a gambling addict awaiting him, and it is all my fault.
4.) This photo was taken when I tired of chasing Piglet around and holding him aloft to look at Noel Edmonds’ face amongst the flashing lights of Deal or No Deal, and handed him to my brother.
5.) Last but not least, it isn’t Christmas any more, so instead of a little boy looking eagerly at a snowman, with shades of the Snowman movie, and a youthful Aled Jones singing in the background, it’s a boy taking a breather from running around a pub on a Sunday lunchtime pointing at the fruit machines and absorbing age-inappropriate vocabulary whilst surrounded by the last vestiges of a Christmas that is no more. Sad times. Until next year.
*OK, so I’m not that Australian girl who had like, 500,000 followers and got loads of free clothes and then revealed the real life behind the Instagram shots in a not very surprising expose. My real life behind the Instagram doesn’t involve free clothes, loads of likes OR posing 50,000 times until you get that one great shot. Have you ever met a toddler? That camera would be going straight into their little hands, and into the Lair of Lost Toys under the sofa, or lobbed across the kitchen until it smashes into a thousand tiny pieces.
Life Love and Dirty Dishes