I know how 60-Minute Makeover team might have felt when faced with the Maze Prison. Boy Three is both confidently pulling himself up and very excited about having a bath. So as the bath runs he’s happy to stand and peer in at the water. Tonight he was similarly engaged while I spent a few minutes putting his clothes away. I could hear his happy rambling and presumed he was just telling his raft of ducks how much he was looking forward to sinking them then gumming their heads. Not so. I looked back – he’d done a poo and was gleefully smearing it up the outside of the bath with his hands and squidging it between his toes. My frantic attempts to halt this exuberant daubing were met with hoots of laughter.
St Andrew’s Ambulance don’t need to worry. Boy Two helped with the ironing – this chore worth tackling because of the potential for injury. And clouds of steam are always a bonus. Inevitably he burned his finger and was sent to run it under the cold tap. His wise big brother – veteran of Cubs’ first aid badge training offered his suggestion: “Just wrap it in tinfoil, it’s the best thing for burns.”
The devil and angel on Boy Two’s shoulders are still fighting it out. Within about a minute he sweetly offered – and brought downstairs – his quilt for the ailing Panther. Don’t worry, looks like a nasty case of man ‘flu to me and neither appetite nor interest in football are diminished. Moments later I had to take him to task. Once more Boy Three burst into tears when his big brother happened to pass. It happened often enough for me to start sneakily watching. This time he defiantly dished out a swipe round the little chap’s ear. “I’ve noticed you’re sometimes being a bit more rough than you need to be with the baby,” I was expecting excuses or a denial.
“Yes. I have.”
“I’m a rough kind of boy.”
He did look the tiniest bit abashed and promised not to do it again, but I’ll be watching closely.