I have a ‘fournager’

One and a half weeks. Seven days of school and suddenly my dear little blue-eyed baby who resembles Boris Johnson when his hair is too long has grown up. No longer does he want to cuddle up with his Mummy…now if he creeps into bed with me during the night, he has his own side and does not share pillows. He wipes my kisses off with a look of disgust. Kisses from Mum are, apparently, for babies.


Along with this heartbreaking tragedy (I think Shakespeare would even struggle to better it), comes fantastic change. Every cloud has a silver lining….separation = every other weekend to myself,  weight gain = wrinkles look less obvious etc.



In just ten days, Owen’s speech has improved beyond anything I was hoping for. Before, if he wanted to go on the iPad, he would say:

Do you want iPad?

Now, he says:

Mummy…can I have the iPad please?

He’s even got the slightly ‘oh my god how many more times am I going to hear ‘Mummy’ today’ tone down to a fine art. Naturally, because I am so bowled over by this speech that is coming from him, he is pretty much getting anything he asks for at the moment. Terrible terrible parenting. I’m going to end up with some sort of Kevin Patterson on my hands if I don’t nip that one in the bud.


Although as longs as he still chooses flowers for me in the supermarket and says ‘Mummy princess’, he can do whatever he likes.

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