The boy will be three tomorrow, and as has already been pointed out, that can’t possibly be true. Only yesterday (it seems), he was a red-faced scrap of hunger and frustration, utterly helpless and only wanting to snuggle somewhere warm and safe. As indeed were Pete and I.
All three of us seem more confident in our roles these days. That’s not to say it’s easy; we still have pretty major Sleep Issues, and Bernard is certainly stuck in a phase of NO. He knows what he wants. He is pretty damn persistent in getting it. I am so proud that he takes after me. I have noticed that (apart from the whole sleep thing), when we get into a difficult phase, we all change. We are quite adaptable, and we work hard to find the best way through these rough patches. This is probably another way of saying we cave in to his every whim, just as adoring parents should.
But it’s not all rough patches and NO. It’s being woken up at 6am by a rendition of “one, two, threefourfive, once I caught a fishalive.” It’s recognising the kisses that granny drew on his birthday card. It’s telling the man in the Indian restaurant that he prefers curry to chips, and neglecting to eat the chips when he was served them anyway. It’s asking what he’s going to do today, and then trying to rearrange the order of events for no reason. It’s choosing “kontrow” underpants in M&S. It’s alerting me to the fact that a nearby baby is crying, and wants some mama-milk to “feel him better.” It’s warm little animal cuddles when my big boy remembers that he’s a baby too.