Whilst teeth brushing: ‘I want a drink. Milk. (Delighted) I drink milk from your BOOBIES mummy!!!!”(It has been at least two years since his last breastfeed. Lord know where this came from. This cafe is CLOSED).
The jolly, repeated request with a skipping rope tangled terrifyingly round his neck to ‘Strangle me up, mummy’. I’m pretty sure I should be putting myself on the social services register for something at this point.
And lastly, a whispered, bewildering sequence of ‘I dunt like Daddy. I DO like him. I do like Daddy. Not Daddy. I like Daddy. (Pause) I dunt like Megan.’
(I have no idea who Megan is.)
This combined with his near delirious love for our new plasterer (*PLASTER Man!!!*), who he has religiously stalked around the house inciting ‘Plaster man? Please I watch you?’ over and over again has meant a week full of unintentional hilarity and joy in our house. Two year olds are the best; they are the worst; a bunch of total DICKS when it comes to letting someone, anyone, do up their jackets, put on their shoes or lord help you attempt to flush the toilet for them, but these are the simple pleasures I’ll hold on to for now, for ever.
The days are often long, but the years are fast. How true.