This, my darlings, is all that my almost-two-year-old says anymore. Well, except for “HERE. Cookie!!!”
Overnight, my sweet-tempered angel has transformed into a foot-stamping, glare-giving strop king. Yesterday, he stood screaming in the kitchen for a full forty minutes after I refused him a biscuit.
He is on hunger strike, refusing to eat anything that is not chocolate-coated, and while I am holding fast, refusing to give in – the monster on my shoulder keeps whispering “go on. go on. A little biscuit won’t kill you or him. Just give him the jaffa cake and he’ll stop screaming, and you won’t be worrying about the fact that he is going to die because he hasn’t eaten in three days”.
Well. I’ve got news for him. I’m not going to crack. I’ve read The Art of War, and this one hasn’t even begun. I am in it for the long haul people.
At least, I am right now. Because this very minute, he is asleep, the house is peaceful, and I am not weighed down by the screams and anguish that will no doubt be rained down on me in an hour’s time.
Wish me luck my friends. Once more into the breach I go.
I will not crack. I will not crack. I will not crack.