The little things x2

It was back in August that Kirsty swam into our lives, you may want to recap with a quick read by pressing here , she wasn’t exactly invited and her entrance made me go against one of the many “when I’m a parent I won’t do that” things, you see my son has always had muslins as comforters – to avoid the love and devotion being put on to one toy that could be lost (dam you Kirsty).

It turns out that Kirsty is named after one of my work friends; my son is a little bit in love with her and since the arrival of fish hat Kirsty we now have shark Kirsty, crocodile Kirsty and at times Kirsty even pops up during Star wars battles.

When I wrote the last article I probably thought that fish hat Kirsty wouldn’t be around for very long, my son has my attention span for objects and quickly moves on…but not with Kirsty.

Kirsty the hat fish came to Barbados with us. She stayed in the hotel suite during the day (the sun/sand combo doesn’t agree with her scaly complexion)  but was allowed out for evening meals, cocktails and dancing by the pool edge. If you think this sounds romantic then you’ve never holidays with a three year old, a time difference that makes keeping said three year old awake long enough to jam some food in his mouth a mission. Most evenings we had some small success, but mainly we were always the first to the buffet restaurant (where you don’t waste valuable minutes waiting for your waitress) and minutes later Daddy was carrying sleeping boy in his arms whilst I juggled as many cocktails as I could carry in stilettos behind them.


However, one night Kirsty joined us for ‘Beach Barbecue Night’ and some how we made it through a leisurely meal? The next night however was a new challenge…a screaming little man realised – Kirsty was gone. If as a parent your child has ever lost their favourite sleeping companion you’ll know that to say my heart was in my stomach doesn’t come close, add that he wasn’t in his own bed, a huge time difference and an awareness that we were disturbing the people in hotel rooms near us means I did what any logical parent would do: I launched operation ‘find Kirsty NOW’. My first stop was to the glamorous receptionist on the night desk..

Gorgeous receptionist: Hi Mam, how can I help you this evening?

Me (stressed Mum): Hi, yeah my son has lost his favourite toy, he won’t sleep without it.

GR: No worries, I can phone down to lost property for you.

Me: that would be amazing…

GR: what does the toy look like?(she picks up the phone and dials the security office)

Me: Its a giant red fish…well hat, yes its a big red fish hat.

GR: I’m sorry madame, did you say a fish hat?

Me: yes?

Needless to say I looked like an insane woman who had had one to many rum cocktails (if only) however the massive security guard who kindly returned Kirsty to my by then hyperventilating child was more confused and enquired where you even buy such an item. Obviously the wacky and innotative flying Tiger hasn’t hit the shores of the Carribean yet. All I cared about what that my son was pacified and sleep for all on the island looked more promising that night.

Since safely returning to the UK it has come to my attention that despite being in the clutches of my sons hands 24/7 Kirsty has some serious skills. She has swerved the washing machine on many occasions (it would seem despite being a fish Kirsty isn’t that keen on water), little dude has spent the last few weeks with a tummy bug – everything within a one hundred mile radius has had some sort of puke over it…but not Kirsty, during night time nappy weaning (yes we are free of those costly never going to bio degrade wads of wee) when beds have been changed at ridiculous o’clock – Kirsty lay untouched by liquid, how she does it i’ll never know.

He still wears her with pride, but mainly they play together and we are still not allowed to mention the word ‘hat’ near her. She is much more than an accessory, she is probably his first love. I have to say as a mother I had higher hopes for my son than a giant red fish, but I guess thats another lesson kirsty has taught us: love is blind.



 

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