In his last month of being two, there have been lots of fun times with Floyd. That is if you call being held to ransom daily by a miniature man child fun.
We still won’t toilet train. I’ve asked, pleaded, begged and bribed. He’s not budging. The older your kids get the worse the nappies become. His require a gas mask,rubber gloves and several containers of wipes. My husband and I do deals on who gets to do them, with me normally losing.
The bottle is still here. Twice a day morning and night he gets a full bottle of milk and sculls it faster than Bob Hawke necks a schooner. I have never seen a kid drink a bottle so fast. Not a two-year old anyway. He’s decided his bed is for decoration only – and sleeps with whoever is lucky enough to be picked that night.
Tantrums are increasing , giving me two choices in life – go head to head or give in to his demands. I’m not ashamed to say if I have had a bad night I will give him whatever it takes to get him in the car, out of the car or into the pram he doesn’t fit in anymore, but has to be restrained in so he doesn’t run away. Toys, treats galore.
He’s become a boss. His employee? His baby sister. He plays with her, pulls her around and tells her what to do and when, and if she doesn’t do what he makes her. He could do with learning how to treat his staff though – if anything goes wrong “Ella did it” is his favourite saying. He better watch out – she’s learning to talk.
Food is still a circus. Won’t touch chicken or steak, will eat tomato sauce and carrots. Preferably together in the Octonauts plate with the Peppa Pig cup. Steals food from the cupboard and hides under the table and eats it. Food of choice – punnets of strawberries, blueberries or mums chocolate stash.
The cracker this Floydfile goes to his efforts at his sisters Holy Communion. He had been a nightmare the whole church service – jumping around, touching people trying to watch their children. My sister took him out for the most part of it but she obviously had enough of him too, because he appeared right at the crucial part of the whole event, forcing daddy to leave the church with him. I was relieved – and sat back to watch my daughter line up for her photos and listen to the Priest.
I heard him before I saw him. Clod hopping down the aisle like a 500 tonne elephant, I didn’t dare turn around. I just knew. Then I heard another familiar sound – Sophie the Giraffe squeaking. There he was romping down the aisle squeaking that stupid teether in front of everyone like it was his day and he was the star of the show.
I’m sure I saw the priest close his eyes and say a prayer. I’m hoping it works.