Lindsay Woods: Don’t fight Peppa Pig. Embrace it. That pig may save your marriage

Any pre-conceived notions you had regarding your child’s ‘Firsts’ will be shattered into teeny, tiny, yet still sharp, millions of pieces, writes Lindsay Woods

When you embark upon your ‘parenting journey’ it is fair to say that there are more than a few difficult lessons to be learned, and myths to be dispelled. Firstly, that the use of the word ‘journey’, to describe the rickety rollercoaster ride you are about to take, is horse manure.

Secondly, you will learn that any pre-conceived notions you had regarding your child’s ‘Firsts’ will be shattered into teeny, tiny, yet still sharp, millions of pieces. Those of you who have ever stepped on a piece of Lego or a Sylvanian Families picnic sandwich barefoot will understand. That ‘First’ toy that your child will reach out their chubby little hands for will not be the curated menagerie of wooden animals. It will be the VTech singing teapot. Once that fails to hold their attention (normally around the 60 second mark), they will more than likely resort to amusing themselves with the box the lurid teapot was housed in. That’s right…the box.

The ‘First’ time you allow your offspring to partake of a television programme (‘bravo’ on quickly figuring out that you will indeed need that sucker!) will not be to watch an Attenborough documentary or an episode of ‘Masterchef’. It will be to watch an obnoxious pig ridicule her parents and conduct herself in such a manner that should warrant her being locked in a tower for a minimum two weeks duration. Your toddler may also develop a slight British accent as a result of repeated viewings of the pig’s antics. Don’t fight it. Embrace it. That pig may save your marriage.

As you navigate all the milestone ‘Firsts’ and they begin to tail off in their frequency, you allow yourself to believe that you have relatively completed that checklist of same. Until you hear the following word uttered for that very ‘First’ time… playdate. You see, children, don’t just ‘play’ anymore. There must be an agreement between both parties i.e. the parents, for an arranged time and date which is agreeable to everyone. The kids don’t give a fig about any of this and will pin you into the corner by the school gates whilst wearing their best ‘Children of the Corn’ expression as they intone in a sing song voice, “Can Child X come to my house today? I told him/her that s(he) could. You can just text his/her mum”.

Cue blank stares from your offspring and Child X as your mouth flaps open and shut like a dehydrated goldfish as you attempt to construct an appropriate response.

Let’s not be coy here, while the word ‘playdate’ is a veritable dry heave inducing one, the definition, ‘…a play session for children arranged in advance by their parents’ is an appropriate explanation. Today, with one or both parents engaged full-time in the workforce coupled with extra-curricular activities for the children (my ‘extra activities’ include rescuing some wine from a bottle and quality time with Netflix) it becomes necessary to schedule such a ‘play session’.

I’m going to preface the next few lines by stating that any child who was not of my genetic makeup, that has stepped foot into our home has been an absolute pleasure. They have had exquisite manners, said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ without prompt and generally showed up my own children in every single facet of their social interactions.

The very ‘First’ of such playdates will mess with your mind. Because you will allow it to. You will clean the house like a maniac beforehand (rookie mistake) for fear that the child will report back to their parents that you do, in fact, inhabit such a hovel that mange-afflicted rodents would refuse sanctuary. Undoubtedly, you will concoct a healthy and nutritious meal containing a whole-wheat pasta and avocado which resembles spit-up from the Incredible Hulk: the result of a nasty, Hulkish, chest infection which in turn causes the child to remark, “My mum is a better cook than you”.

You will do all the above and more. But let me tell you a secret, none of this matters to the child. They will not report back to their parents about any of the aforementioned lunacies. Because kids are only concerned with the following three things: the speed of your internet, chicken nuggets and ketchup. So, cut yourself some slack, stock the freezer with the beige food and possibly think about changing your broadband provider. These steps will undoubtedly secure you many return visits thus enabling you to take advantage of your own ‘extra-curricular activities’ in peace.