Quit While You’re Ahead

Quit While You’re Ahead

Last Sunday I took Henry to the cinema. A rare outing just the two of us and it was great.


The end.


Just kidding. Actually, the cinema was great. Personally, I don't get the Minions thing (there were adults wearing Minions T-shirts watching the 10AM screening on their own, some laughing hysterically at Kevin and Stuart saying ‘banana’ and cheering at King Bob ... but each to their own). My boy was happy and I was happy that he was happy. I also inhaled £7.46 worth of Pic 'n' Mix and enjoyed 90 minutes of not being whinged at. It was fun.


And then I made a mistake.


Rather than returning home on a high note (while we were both still laughing and smiling and holding hands like something out of the Boden catalogue) I decided it would be the PERFECT opportunity to go and get him some new shoes. He could pick some and it would be so much easier without the baby in tow. It would be FUN.


It wasn't fun.


This is what went down:

- I asked him if he needed the toilet as we left the cinema. No, he most definitely did not. Five minutes later he was shouting ‘I NEED A POO IT'S GOING TO COME OUT!’ I then had to pick him up and run with him to John Lewis. Nothing raises your blood pressure quite like carrying 2.5 stone of ready-to-detonate poo bomb. He was much less desperate by the time we go there. Funny that.

- He lay on the floor in H&M, refusing to try on any shoes. When I finally managed to wrestle a pair on (and I mean WRESTLE - the other shoppers pretended not to notice as I pinned down his limbs whilst he made loud fart noises) he ran off with the elastic tying the shoes together still attached, tripping him up and snapping the elastic.

- He cried because I wouldn't let him go down the up escalator.

- He ordered chicken nuggets but when they arrived dropped the bombshell that he doesn't like chicken anymore (but he ‘might like it again when's he's four because four-year-olds can have chicken’).


By the time we returned home I was in a rage (‘why he is always like this for me? Nobody else has to put up with this shit!’) and the joyful 1.5 hour cinema date was a distant memory.


Moral(s) of the story?

Quit while you're ahead. 

Don't bother shoe shopping.

Don't buy chicken nuggets for a three-year-old because only four-year-olds eat chicken. FACT.



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The Unmumsy Mum