A Toddler in a Sweetshop

I went to visit my godchildren last night, armed with some “Frozen” jewellery and a 10 piece joke kit (yes my friend was delighted, I’d introduced her 5 year old son to the joys of fake poo and a water squirting ring) General commotion ensued, it sounded a bit like this....

“Oh no Aunty Katie, someone’s done a poo on the floor” (me pretend horrified) “not really, it’s fake”

“Look at my lovely ring Aunty Katie” (cue me getting squirted in the face)

Nate and Eve

There were tales of Minions, pictures to colours, Eve wanted the same “Chuggington” story three times. 

Nate’s bedtime reading was slightly more sophisticated and was the tale of a King who loved sweets so had a giant sweet machine installed in the kingdom. However, the neighbouring Baron Greedyguts (anyone thinking this author had taken his inspiration from Dickens?) decided he wanted to steal his sweet machine. Apparently the best way to steal a sweet machine is to get your pet dragons to do lots of poos and then fling the poo at the sweet machine, so you can steal it. The evil Baron was defeated by a crafty Knight and the horrible Baron Greedyguts ended up the one covered in Dragon poo (Not nice is it Baron Greedyguts?!) The King was so horrified by all the sweets he’d been eating that he turned his de-pooed sweet machine into a giant exercise bike for the whole kingdom and they all lived a very healthy and sweet-free life. The end.

  As I kissed Nate goodnight to shouts of “Aunty Katie, come here” room Eve’s room. I realised that just recently my diet had very much resembled an unsupervised toddler in a sweetshop, who had gorged on e numbers and was just plain old running riot. I’d fallen into the trap of thinking I didn’t need structure or to keep a diary of what I was eating, I could do it on my own. I cancelled my Weight watchers subscriptions a couple of weeks ago and had kidded myself into thinking I knew better.

  My “light bulb” moment came a couple of weeks, as I stood in my kitchen, scooping scooped Nutella out of a jar and onto a digestive biscuit, I say “a digestive biscuit”, it was actually 7, I was embarrassed by myself. So I did what all sensible people do, I finished the jar of Nutella; it’s simply not safe for me to have it in the house and reinstated my Weight Watchers membership.

The digestives pre-Nutella

10 days in and after my first weigh in and I am 5 pounds lighter, thank goodness! I was chatting to my sister Lucy about it, as she’d fallen into the same Nutella filled trap and we decided that we respond to order, we respond to rules and we need that element of planning in our lives.

  I wont lie, it was enjoyable to run riot for a little bit, but just like Liz Taylor and Richard Burton, me and Nutella can’t maintain a functioning relationship, so I think it’s time for us to split forever (or until I let my inner toddler have a little run round)

Me as a baby, before Nutella was invented and gingerbread men were my "drug" of choice