The little guy is two and a half years old now and I don’t mind saying that he’s probably equal parts cute and naughty.
As much as he is willful and defiant he is also sweet and honest and so openly happy with life that his joy is imprinted on everything he does like an ink stamp. Even a jumble of toys left in his wake will have happy aura about them.
Added to that, almost everything he does these days is accompanied by a joyful little nursery rhyme soundtrack.
Then there’s the laughter. It’s belly laughter. It’s that unabashed, loud kind of laughter that almost doesn’t allow for breathing and more often than not ends up curled up in a ball on the ground in a disheveled little pile of exhaustion.
One of the bedtime rituals we’ve instituted is to insist that he doesn’t start drinking his bottle of tea until he’s actually in his cot and tucked in for a trip to dreamland. The problem is he often won’t settle in his cot if he’s had his tea beforehand. That’s not a great position to be in as far as parenting goes I must say. But then on the other hand there’s story time which means he has to wait that much longer for his bottle.
A real conundrum for him.
In his own little way he solved the problem for us both. He gets the bottle at bedtime but he makes a promise not to start drinking it until he’s in his cot.
I promise I mustn’t drink it Daddy.
Sometimes he will even accompany this solemn little oath with one hand clasped over his mouth as if to say look, nothing can get past my hand so now you know I won’t cheat…just let me hold the bottle.
To his credit, he sticks to this promise without fail but will often rush story time in order for bedtime to roll around more quickly. The second his head hits the pillow his part of the deal is done and he tucks into the bottle with all the gusto and determination of an Olympic athlete at the top of his game.
What a perfect little creature.