I cringe when he refuses to back down. Partly because he makes a fuss in public and I want to die of embarrassment at being THAT mum but mainly because I hate that I bequeathed him with such a ‘gift’. He is fiercely independent. Despite the fact he is putting his shoes on the wrong feet he refuses help, which is usually why I am a good half hour late for bloody everything these days. (Along with a few ill timed poos. The kids, not me) Tragically though, I am just like him.
Yesterday, exactly 24 hours after the house was cleaned from top to bottom, including bed sheets changed, my house was once again an absolute midden. As a result, I ensured I was out of the house ALL DAY so I didn’t have to deal with it. I decided to do the grandparents rounds and make their houses look like they had been broken into and ransacked for a little while. I am good like that. My mum and I began talking about me going back to work.