Squealing Is Just Fine... During Business Hours!

Lately, HRH has developed the most jarring squeal! She likes the sound of her own voice. Nine times out of ten, it's a happy squeal (is there such a thing???) not a stroppy, whingy tantrum-type squeal like the kid in the supermarket when I was pregnant and at my pre-pregnancy know-it-all best. Happy or not though, it pierces your eardrum and an acute headache sets in after about four hours of it, making you wonder how much worse US torture in an illegal prison camp somewhere not on a map could really be.

Anyway, I digress from the reason for this post. It is currently 11.01pm and the 4 little charmers next door are only just now going to bed!! I can appreciate that it is a public holiday tomorrow and all that jazz, but seriously! My child's a squealer, I realise that, it's annoying, a tad mind-numbing, a little embarassing for the other new neighbours with whom we share a common wall, BUT AT LEAST SHE ONLY DOES IT DURING BUSINESS HOURS!! These kids have been at it until just now. Their Mum has only now decided to shut all of the windows. How freaking considerate of you! It only took my daughter 3 hours and 46 minutes to fall asleep!! For that, I really must thank you. Especially after such a splendidly shithouse day!

I'm easing into the idea of having a boisterous toddler who makes it her mission in life to mow down the poor bloody dog with her wooden wagon at every opportunity.

I'm making peace with the reality of her growing obsession with emptying my grocery cupboard.

I'm even marvelling at her brilliance in taking only half a day to work out how to bypass the childproof locks to get into the cupboard in the first place.

But for the love of God, PLEASE don't make me beg you to soundproof your home on account of my impending insanity!! You guys are really quite cool. I (mostly) dig your music taste and your kids are positively angelic compared to the last pack of ferals that lived there before you. But I wanted us to be like the proper neighbours, you know? I mean, we don't have to partner-swap or anything ala Melrose Place, we don't even need to frequent each other's houses too often and live in each others pockets and have coffee dates and shit.

All I want is recognition of the fact that regretably, housing estates in Sydney these days are laid out such that you cannot help but hear everything going on next door. I try to be considerate of this fact when I'm yelling inventive threats at the dog/cat/bird/Huz/Baby. What say, in return for you restricting your little nightmares to daytime squealing competitions, I promise to stop muttering under my breath to the Huz about your morally questionable practice of letting your little cherub daughters sing Papa Don't Preach on Karaoke at the tops of their underdeveloped, innocent lungs EVERY SECOND FREAKING DAY! Deal? GOOD.

Can I Have a Mop & Bucket To Aisle Four PLEASE???

Don't you just detest those children, you know, the kind who make you wonder why you don't grocery shop online, from the comfort of your own quiet, child-free sanctuary?

Yes. I detest those children, wondering what kind of nasty parentage leads to such devil-spawn, pondering as I push my trolley down the supermarket aisles, exactly what kind of love/reckless intoxication/blind stupidity/latex allergy could bring about such a little monster's existence. And the mother? Well clearly she ought to shop at online and never ever inflict her tantrum-chucking mongrel child on my local supermarket EVER again. Why should I have to suffer in the name of ensuring my family doesn't starve?

Folks, I owe you all an apology, especially if you shop where I do. The fruit of my loins, my darling daughter, is a freaking. shopping. mall. nightmare!!! I kid you not. This afternoon's performance whilst not necessarily her finest, was certainly her loudest and most productive.

In my infinite "mother wisdom", I decided to opt for sitting Her Royal Highness in the trolley rather than wrangle with her pram. This way, Mum and I could each have our own trolley and with any luck, we wouldn't have to listen to The Soundtrack From Whingy, Teething, I-Want-To-Be-Carried-Baby all the way through the shop. It was a brilliant idea until about, say, Aisle Two. By then, she'd established that she could reach out when I stopped the trolley and manhandle all kinds of items on the shelves. Joy.

After a while, in a feeble attempt to keep her whinging to a dull roar, I handed her seemingly harmless items to 'hold for Mummy' until her attention span waned and I could distract her and toss them into the trolley. Hmm ... turns out even plastic bottled Ranch dressing is breakable. *Oh the humiliation!*

I mean, really, what kind of mother gives their child grocery items to hold as they're wheeled through the shop? Perhaps if they parented their children, they wouldn't need to rely on ranch dressing to do it for them! *cringe*

In fairness to HRH, she probably could have done with her afternoon yoghurt and a nap before we left, or perhaps not even going out at all in 44 degree blistering hot weather, but I wasn't going to be long and it was nice and cool in the shops, which would be good and ...

By Aisle Seven, she was refusing the pacifier (which, for the record all you trendy mothers out there, I never use to shut her up, only to pacify her before a sleep! I was desperate today!) and flinging it all over the shop. Unfortunately, by Aisle Eight the trolley was full enough for her to reach back and just Frisbee items out of the trolley with a casual flick of her wrist and a raised eyebrow crossed with an evil smirk.

I should shop online. It would probably just be easier for everyone concerned, namely MYSELF. It's ironic that I had stood outside that same supermarket not 2 years earlier, watching a nasty little brat terrorising her frazzled family, and saying confidently to my mother "mark my words, that kind of ear piercing squealing will be a smackable offence when my child enters this world"(said in jest OK, for all you aforementioned trendies!!! When I was pregnant, I held the belief I'd raise a child that didn't require smacking/threatening/scolding in order to behave in a supermarket.) HRH isn't even walking yet, so who knows where my dwindling sanity may lead me in the future. I am certain she has every intention of making it her mission in life to challenge me in very way she can dream up, but I also figure she's been doing that from conception and I've kinda learnt to pre-empt her next move a lot of the time.

But I didn't see the ranch dressing falling until I felt the splat on my foot and saw her headbutt the trolley handle in an attempt to see where her bottle of dressing had 'all-gone'. Maybe, just maybe, I'm human after all. Although I'm not sure if I'm more concerned about being one of those parents, or with having one of those children. Ah well, I guess only time will tell.