Oh dear, the boy really is getting to be a chip off the old (maternal) block.
For those who know me, you may also be aware of my rather alarmingly capricious and, lets face it, somewhat silly personality. I can leap from the peaks of cheeriness to the depths of despair faster than you can say 'blimey, is it that time of the month'. Seriously, I just don't know how hubbie puts up with it. (Well, I do, he simply sighs and pours himself another glass of wine. Then inserts the ear plugs.)
It would appear that our beloved D is learning the tricks of the trade with the mood swings. Today, we have had no less than about 20 hugely alarming screechy tantrums. They were over the following things:
1) Having his nappy changed.
2) Having to wear clothes.
3) Us not psychically knowing that he had finished his breakfast.
4) Us not miraculously being able to release him from his highchair in a millisecond.
5) Turning off the tv before the closing credits of Waybaloo had completely finished (that one was a big one).
6) Trying to feed him couscous.
7) Not immediately having a substitute for the rejected couscous.
8) Not allowing him to eat the computer lead.
9) Not allowing him to eat hubbie's flip flops.
The list goes on. Each strop evokes a terrifying transformation in our normally chirpy little laddie. The face darkens to a worrying shade of aubergine. The mouth opens so it almost encompasses the whole head, then the most shrill wail audible to the human ear emerges from the tiny, yet thoroughly determined wind pipes.
And yet, just as quickly, like a switch has been flicked, he'll be all smiles again, looking at you all sweetly, with a hint of bemusement, as if to say 'why are you looking so harrassed and worn out, mummy? Surely it's nothing to do with me!'
I just can't keep up with him at the moment. Bless him. It's divine retribution for me being like that for 28 years... ho ho...
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