Argh! One of the most surprising things for me is the extent to which my mood depends on James’s willingness to eat. (Breaking news: mothers are incurable feeders – who knew?)
Not to mention sleep. Lately this baby runs entirely on empty. Up at 5am. Wilful mischief all day long. Still wide awake at 9pm. This appears to be his new, self-appointed bedtime. For the 2 hours preceding it he races all over the flat in a state of heightened glee as if to advertise how NOT TIRED he is. Yesterday I denied him his afternoon nap, to make sure that he would be tired for bed. It made absolutely NO difference.
Some days I can only wonder what is fuelling this science-defying zest for life, especially when we have a flat refusal to eat breakfast, lunch thrown on the floor, and one or two grudging mouthfuls of dinner. Has he got a back-up battery hidden in his innards somewhere?
Now, kindly excuse me while I relieve the floor of half a pot of splatted moussaka, an uneaten philadelphia sandwich, two mangled apple slices and an untouched finger of buttered fruit toast. All to a soundtrack of grizzle. Yay!
They’d never believe it at nursery.
(Now I am going to strap him into his highchair with eye restraints in the style of Clockwork Orange and play Weird Al Yankovic at him on a loop on Youtube.)