Pudding did not care that this was our last morning to have a sleep-in. After coming in to our bed at 7am he tossed and turned for 20 minutes before climbing out, standing next to my side of the bed and whispering loudly in his best toddler style that he wanted “bekky”. I told him he’d be fine and could leave Mummy and Daddy to sleep and tide himself over with a cracker from the pantry (yes, I know, I’m an excellent mother). He left the room and stood in the hallway wimpering and moaning about his bekky and how huuuuuungry he was. I decided it would be far nicer to get up and make it for him unencumbered than to wait for him to wake Grub with his wailing and have to do it with her on my hip. So, here I am, it’s now 7.40am.
Pudding was actually very cute in the kitchen.
“Toast is not for bekky” he said to me with the sweet rising intonation that means, “I am asking for toast but don’t want to ask explicitly in case there is some reason I can’t have toast because I get put out easily if things don’t go my way and it is best this way”.
Me: “Toast is perfect for brekky, would you like toast?”
P: “Yes, but you can have it at night”
Me: “Toast is lovely at any time”
He sat munching his toast on the kitchen sofa while I tidied up and I mentioned to him that his knees were lovely.
Me: “Did you buy the from the shop?”
Me: “You did, you bought them from the supermarket, in the knee aisle”
P: “No, they’re from Ikea”
Rhubarb just emerged from his cave to tell me that he vomited during the night. Now all six of us have been afflicted, the circle is complete. I sent him to bed with a bucket just in case. He wanted to know what he should do with it as it had been “fermenting in his room all night”. Why oh why would he choose now abandon his monosyllabic ways. I was eating a bowl of yoghurt with lumps of peach and mango in it. I can’t finish it now. Did I mention how thrilled I am that school goes back tomorrow?