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Feed on

The best thing I can say about Saturday is that it started well. Before breakfast, my husband put on a Jamiroquai album. He picked up Mr Squish and they danced around the loungeroom. It was very cute: my husband singing and bopping up and down, and my little boy clinging on for dear life.

  “I’m stranded on a spaceship hideaway
   And something makes me think I’m here to stay
   I’m so happy where I am”

While I was never a massive fan of Jamiroquai, his music reminds me of a time in my twenties when I’d go to cool venues, drink cocktails and stagger home at some ungodly hour with nary a care in the world. They were decadent, fun years.

    “I’m holding heaven in my hands
   It’s automatic baby and it feels so good”

In stark contrast, while my boys danced today, I washed the dishes. 

I let the music continue playing whilst I got ready for the ‘FOAS Special Fun-Time Feeding Game‘ (name yet to be approved by Hasbro, if they ever return my calls).

In short, I try to feed my 11-month-old son without succumbing to the urge to go outside, lie in the gutter and weep. 

See! Who needs dancing and cocktails? I can still have fun!

In the tally of who’s winning this game, Mr Squish is soundly kicking my butt. But I had a good feeling about the morning’s rematch. Yes, I was carrying an injury (a sore lower back) but he had a cold, so I reckon we were fairly evenly matched.

I did consider getting my husband to stand in the corner with pom-poms, cheering me on. “GO, WIFE, GO!” It couldn’t hurt.

    “Feels good
   These extra-sensory sensations
   Are causing me some complications”

So my son managed to eat half of his vegemite on toast, which was quite exciting. “This is all going very well,” I stupidly thought to myself. “Victory shall be mine!”

It was then, of course, that the day started to get a bit wobbly.

Mr Squish began gagging in an alarming fashion before vomiting everything back up again. He finished by clapping his hands and smiling. He’s too young to say “Ta Da!”, but I bet it went through his mind.

After a vigorous bout of swearing from me, I declared “I’m never feeding you again!” with all the maturity and calmness of a spoilt two-year-old.

Round 1 to Mr Squish.

    “I’m playing with a pleasure trafficker
   Arriving soon intergalactica”

After I cleaned him, his high chair, and myself of regurgitated bread, I had to change his horrendously smelly nappy. Dear god.

Then it was time for Round 2. (Yep, that was just Round 1, people! You can see why I love this game.)

Plonked back in his high chair, Mr Squish ate most of his morning tea. But he soon started getting stroppy. Food started being flung about, so I gave him a wooden maracas toy to distract him. He held it for approximately 1 second before hurling it towards the floor, completely breaking it. I had bought it only the day before.

Cue more lively swearing.

    “I’m holding heaven in my hands
   It’s automatic baby and it feels good”

To round off the morning and thoroughly rub salt in my wounds, I had to change yet another pooey nappy from hell.

So Mr Squish was this morning’s resounding winner! Well done, son, you were the better player on the day.

    “Feels good
   Feels so good”

I put the little champion to bed. As I watched him sleep for a while, one thought went through my mind…

If I ever meet Jamiroquai, I’m going to kick him in the bollocks.



[ Little did I know that this was to be the EASY part of the day. Things were about to get much worse. To be continued. ]


Lyrics to “Feel So Good” song by Jamiroquai.



4 Responses to “Nothing personal, Jamiroquai”

  1. jacinta says:

    My only suggestions are as follows:
    1. Hire nanny
    2. Hire cleaner
    3. Make husband do it (ie stay in bed with hangover and flatly refuse to do anything)
    4. Try Nick Cave or Gallon Drunk albums next time

    • Ms FOAS says:

      Perhaps I should try Celine Dion’s “music” next time. Because no matter what crappiness was happening around me, it would all feel good by comparison.

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