Here’s the proof…

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And that is exactly why we’ve had such trouble choosing our first dance.

We’re not particularly traditional people. We did everything the wrong way round to start with, having a baby first and all. And we’re not getting married in a church. So I was all for ditching the first dance altogether. But then I realised the endless possibilities.

For the first time in my life, I would have a ready-made audience that couldn’t walk out halfway through my big number. It would be my time to shine. I started to feel the warmth of the limelight on my face. I could feel the ache in my legs as I curtsied to rapturous applause.

With my jazzy jazz hands, high kicks and lift the likes of which Patrick Swayze would be proud of, I would win my audience. Frog could be my backing dancer. I’d have a standing ovation. I’d become a YouTube sensation. I’d be invited on to This Morning to chat about the moving yet skilful performance with Phil. Louis Spence would see my moves and he’d just have to invite me to join his dance troupe.  I’d get my own TV show, make millions and become Take That’s star dancer. In fact, I’d be invited to join Take That, as their first ever female member, because of my “special star quality”.

And then I remembered there would be two of us in this dance. I’d have to share the limelight with my new husband. He was, let’s say, less than keen on the jazz hands routine. He disagreed with me that Dirty Dancing is possibly the best film ever made. In fact, he thought it was the worst. (I only managed to persuade him to watch it with the promise “there’s fighting in it” – and the one punch in the entire film was sadly disappointing.)

So we canned the jazz hands and I got my husband-to-be drunk. In his inebriated state I managed to convince him to agree to another choreographed number. This time to Take That’s Greatest Day. But as his hangover set in so did the cold feet. So Gary et al were canned along with Patrick Swayze.

Then Granny from the North suggested a slow number. After humming the tunes to Lady In Red and countless other croony tunes, there wasn’t one that stood out.

So I’m opening the floor to suggestions. What was your first wedding dance and why did you choose that particular song? As well as the chance to steal your ideas I’ll get a good excuse to be nosey and find out all about your wedding.

*Jazz hands*

(humour  me – it’s the only time I’ll get to do them this week.)

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Forget the fact I have a beautiful daughter, am getting married to a wonderful man and do a job I love. None of that matters. Because I have interviewed Mr Tumble.

Yes, you heard me right. The Mr Tumble.

Now, for those of you without young children, the Mr Tumble craze may have passed you by. You may even have missed out on Gigglebiz characters like Nana Knickerbocker and Arthur Sleep. These are all the creations of Justin Fletcher – aka Mr Tumble. He’s a bit of a CBeebies legend and all-round-bigwig amongst toddlers. And I got to interview him.

Forget Gary Barlow (unless you’re reading this Gary – in which case you’re still my number one), Mr Tumble is the one I’ve wanted to interview ever since the birth of Frog and my relationship with children’s TV began.

As much as I wish I could say Justin Fletcher is a grumpy so-and-so who actually hates children in real life, it’s not the case. He’s probably the nicest bloke I’ve ever interviewed and is genuinely as cheery as you find him on the telly.

You can read my interview with him over at Real Parenting today.

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After waxing lyrical about becoming the best thing since Gary Barlow, it turns out I’ve been upstaged. Before today I was, quite literally, an A lister as far as my baby was concerned. As soon as I broke into song Frog’s face broke into a smile. If I did a dance for her, she positively bounced with excitement.

But now she’s realised I’m not cool. I’m like the Spice Girls after Geri left; deflated and a bit less glittery.

It all started last week. Frog being the lively kind of girl that she is, started attempting to clap. She would wave her hands together and either miss or, better still, clap with clenched fists (sort of defeating the whole purpose of clapping as she didn’t actually make a sound).

So my main aim in life for the past fortnight has been to make her clap. Properly, without clenched fists.

I’ve spent the last two weeks putting on shows that Take That would be proud of. I’ve sung every nursery rhyme under the sun and even tried a bit of Lady Gaga. And I’ve. Got. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. The girl is made of stone.

I thought I was getting close last night, after playing “pat-a-cake” (by the way, what is that all about – who actually “pats” cakes?) and Frog began to do her clenched fist claps in unison with mine. But still the palms weren’t flat, so still the claps didn’t count.

And then we went to Baby Sensory.

For those of you not familiar with Baby Sensory, it’s an hour-long session for babies with music, instruments, bubbles, singing, toys and anything else you could possibly think of. I suppose it’s the equivalent of a nightclub for babies, with extra champagne and a very sparkly disco ball.

The woman who runs our Baby Sensory (hello Jane, if you’re reading this) is a baby superstar. Seriously, if you thought Madonna had fans you should see the way these babies look at Jane. So, they sang their little welcome song and, as usual, Frog giggled and lapped it all up, ever the doting fan. But I wasn’t jealous. I mean, Jane’s just the warm-up act, right?

Wrong.

Because it was at that moment, the moment where Frog looked adoringly at Jane singing, that Frog clapped. Properly. With unclenched fists and everything.

Now, call me bitter, but I’ve been trying to make that girl clap me for two weeks. TWO BLOODY WEEKS. I’ve tried singing, dancing, even stand-up comedy, but she hasn’t budged an inch. And then some woman comes along who is not even her mother – NOT EVEN HER MOTHER – and my fickle child applauds her like there’s no tomorrow. If she could shout “encore, encore” I’m pretty sure she would have done that too.

Well, that’s me told then.

Lesson #78 of parenting: lap up the adoration of your baby, because you never know when they’ll withdraw their membership to your fan club.

Fake applause

The post That’s show business appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

The best thing about having a baby is becoming a pop star.

And a comedian. And generally, the best entertainer of all time.

In my head, I’ve always sounded absolutely fabulous. I’m the sixth (and only female) member of Take That. I just haven’t been discovered yet. In reality, though, I expect my friends and family probably would say something quite different.

Baby Frog hasn’t yet realised I have a voice that could smash a window. As far as she’s concerned, it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard. I love that about having a baby.

It’s not all rosy though. For some reason (disloyal child) she seems to find her Daddy more entertaining. I could put on a whole show for her, singing and dancing, while all he has to do is smile and she’s putty in his hands. I hate to be upstaged (Competitive Mum again I’m afraid).

So I choose to believe that it isn’t because I have a rubbish voice. It isn’t because I’m a rubbish dancer. It isn’t because she doesn’t like Take That (my main repertoire of tunes). It’s simply because her Daddy has a funny face. Who can blame her really?

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