Nudie Rudie

This is likely to get a bit fluffy in places. You have been warned.

While Mrs Koinuchan was expecting we read lots of books about child rearing. We were hoping that they might prove useful once our sproglette had made her grand appearance. On the whole, they haven't. For some reason the most important lesson - do what works for you, not what some self appointed childcare guru suggests - wasn't covered in any of them. Probably a bit of a downer on their book sales I guess. Anyway, one they all agreed upon was that a good bedtime routine was vital at the end of the day. In summary: get your little darling used to a certain way of doing things and they will willingly go to bed.

Hey, it works for us. In her routine, she’s not allowed to watch television after 6pm. Dancing to Josie Jump with her Daddy, on the other hand, is mandatory. By 7.30pm Little Miss knows that her 'Bah Time' is imminent. All her Mamma needs to do is say 'Bathtime!' and she will scuttle up the stairs without a single word of complaint. She knows that her Daddy is ready and waiting with her bath run, her towel and changing mat ready and a clean vest, nappy and pyjamas waiting for afterwards. And afterwards, her Mamma will clean her teeth and give her a bottle of Happy Cow milk.

Bathtime is a little bit of bittersweet Daddy/Little Miss K quality time. On a good day, we get Nudie Rudie - her playful and rather under clothed secret identity. For some reason, seeing my toddler daughter on a nudie rampage is incredibly funny; effectively a curly haired, giggly tummy on matchstick legs. And judging by her reaction to her reflection in our bedroom mirror, she must think it is pretty hilarious too. When she is in the bath we sing about winding bobbins, play tickle with her Moo wash mitten and squirt each other with her bath toys. Dressing her is still akin to trying to get a wet suit on an espresso fuelled octopus, but I do get a huge heartfelt cuddle and a sloppy kiss afterwards. On a bad day, she just continuously yells The Dreaded Almighty 'OUT!' and her bottle simply can't come quickly enough.

To say that Little Miss K has had a mixed relationship with water is an understatement. When she was roughly seven months old, she had a course of lessons at a local swimming pool. Since her Mamma had been a pesciolino (little fish) and had learnt how to swim at an early age, it seemed a fun thing to do. Ermmm... No. Remember Little Miss' reaction to nurses? It turns out that large expanses of water aren't her thing either. The instructor didn't help. If you ever want to hear a lead-footed rendition of 'Here We Go Round The Mulberry Bush' with all the joie de vivre of a mummified stoat I know precisely where to send you.

'What about the seaside?' I hear you cry. 'All kids love the seaside...' Sadly, the one time that Little Miss has been to the seaside was less than a qualified success. Little Miss' Nonna lives in Palermo, Sicily. Amongst other things, this region of Italy is famous for its beautiful seaside - it has warm sunshine, clear water, lots of fish and a distinct lack of Kiss Me Quick hats and Little & Large variety shows. An ideal, gentle introduction to joys of the seaside you might think... We have photographic evidence of a ten month old Little Miss K before and after her first experience with the briny. The before picture shows a curious proto-toddler with her Mamma looking at the water, little feet dangling six inches above the gently lapping waves. The after picture shows the same child with her legs folded up under her bottom, yelling at her Mamma. Luckily Little Miss cheered up when she tried her first chocolate ice cream later that afternoon.

Bath times (getting back to my original topic) used to be stressful too. They were a necessary activity, but not one to be savoured. At one point we considered using a sheep dip, but there weren't any readily available on eBay. Anyway, we realised something important the evening after the seaside trauma. To wit: Little Miss wants to do things her way or not at all. Put Little Miss in her bath on her back and she will yell at you. Allow her to sit on her haunches, just like she does when she is playing, she will happily sit in the bath long enough to make washing her almost pleasant.

In other words let her think she has got her own way, even if she hasn't. This little nugget has been more useful to us than anything written by, say, Gina Ford or Tracy Hogg.

There. I've just saved you a few quid.