Piglet has above average intelligence
Head banging is totally normal
Piglet must be autistic
Piglet is a Romanian orphan
Obviously some of these possibilities are more appealing than others.
Anyway, in an attempt to stimulate the first of these options, today I took Piglet to the library. Now I must admit that Piglet does not seem to be overly keen on books at this present time. In fact, whenever I try to read to him he either a) tries to grab the book and throw it around or b) crawls as quickly as possible in the opposite direction, usually right off the side of the bed (I basically have to cling on to him at all times whilst on the bed. The other night I was woken up by an almighty crash and the sound of hysterical crying, only to find that he had rolled right off in his sleep. This did not go down well in light conversation at work, where I suddenly felt the eyebrows of all present company rise slightly as I regaled this witty oh-aren't-children-funny anecdote, as though I had just casually admitted to waterboarding my son during his evening bath). Today, however, there was a Netmums meet-up at the library, during which they were going to be talking about some stuff that doesn't apply to me, such as flexible working (ha ha ha) and starting your own business (I once sold some stuff on Ebay and made an actual loss).
Now one friend of mine, a devotee of Mumsnet, once told me that she preferred Mumsnet to Netmums because the latter was "a bit working class," so I was expecting
That song always made my dad cry. Not sure why, as it seems that in real life it's generally only mothers who come in for the sort of criticism that blames every one of an individual's personal failings/murderous tendencies/despotic dictatorships on the failure of their female parent to be a cookie-baking, treasure hunt-organising, dedicated to home and hearth Perfect Mother. The dads can work all they want and no one ever implies that they are neglecting their true vocation and ruining the next generation for all of humanity.
Anyway, my lack of motherly skills evident, I skulked off, only returning when I saw that the queue in Starbucks was a bit long, and I stealthily snuck back into the library to use the coffee shop, hoping not to be seen by any of the Net Mums. Sometimes I think when Piglet is older he will turn on me and accuse me of loving coffee more than him. The boy is basically being raised in the highchairs of Cafe Nero, Costa and Starbucks. The Starbucks staff don't even have to ask me my name anymore. Some of them can even spell it.
And I made him play on his own while I watched an episode of Mad Men this evening. I'm going to Hell in a Handcart.