Breakfast

Sunday morning. My turn for a lie in, yippee!! Daisy was up a couple of times for feeds last night when normally she wakes once (down to jabs, teething, getting a cold or all three probably – who knows?), and Theo was up coughing at 5am because he has a cold (standard for this time of year it seems). Zac was on Daisy duty, and I had Theo.
We were woken at 7am by Theo, and Zac told me to stay in bed as it was my lie in which came as a bit of a surprise because he was up waaay more than me last night but I wasn’t going to argue! I was just drifting back to sleep when I heard Theo beginning one of his tantrums in the kitchen. Already?? He’s only been conscious three and a half minutes! No disrespect to Zac but I seem to be a tad better at neutralising these situations as I have more exposure to them than he does. So swearing under my breath I heave myself out of bed (after a MacDonalds breakfast and an Indian for dinner yesterday, with cake in between, I swear I’ve put on 4 stone overnight.. diet starts today) and trudge downstairs.
Theo is sat on the breakfast worktop with Zac stood next to him. The tantrum seems to have subsided which can only mean one thing, Zac has given into whatever it was Theo wanted… Obviously the thing he wanted more than anything else in the world at 7.03am on a Sunday is a dried weetabix. The screams were a result of Zac pouring milk onto weetabix 1, so he had quickly handed Theo weetabix 2. Now you might think I’m a grouchy old bat but I can’t be dealing with Theo having a dried weetabix for breakfast, have you seen how crumbly those things are?!! You take one bite and the same amount crumbles off the end and all over the house. No matter how much you hoover you find sharp little crumbs of doom for days to come.
I decide to intervene. I give Theo a cuddle whilst he’s temporarily put weetabix 2 down and whisk him off to the living room for a cuddle on the sofa. He seems quite happy for a minute then points to the dining table where Zac has put weetabix 1 (with milk and banana). I plonk Theo in his chair and can’t work out why he’s so excited when he has the same breakfast every other day, until:
Me: “Zac! Why did you bring that in?!” *points at weetabix 2*
Zac: “He wanted it.”
Argh!! Cheers mate you utter buffoon. Now don’t get me wrong, I love my husband to bits. He makes me laugh everyday and I can honestly say I have married my best friend. But it’s moments like this that make me want to kick his head in. If I gave into everything Theo demanded because “he wanted it” in order to avoid a tantrum then we would have a permanently naked toddler who only wears my slippers as footwear and eats nothing but rice cakes and biscuits. We would also be very broke as we would have bought him the Santa Train we went on at Christmas last year.
Zac can see I’m a bit annoyed so says he will clear it up. I explain this isn’t the point, I just know Theo will demand another dried weetabix tomorrow morning (when Zac is in the safety of his car on the way to his calm sanctuary of work whilst I’m left on the battlefield alone – good job comrade), and I refuse to get out the hoover that has as much oomph as a 102 year on life support every morning for the next three months, or until Theo decides he likes his weetabix with milk again.
I can see the tiny crumbs of doom lining up neatly in the groove on the table top, knowing I will be looking at those for the next 5 years or so because we have no hoover nozzle attachment (we think Theo threw it in the bin about 6 months ago). Theo also has a pile of the crumbs of doom on his lap, I’m too scared to look at the floor (I need to point out that at this point Theo is the happiest I’ve seen him since Christmas. I can see a glint in his eye which tells me he knows he’s won and that the score so far today is Theo-2, Parents-0, he gets a bonus point because he’s managed to get us to argue).
I’m about to point all this out when Zac tells me to go away as he can’t deal with my crankiness so early in the morning. Erm, rude! But I decide to comply because I’ve been looking forward to my lie in all week so I quickly exit the scene of destruction. I stop by the kitchen and cram two chocolate biscuits into my dressing gown pocket and go upstairs firmly closing the stair gate behind me.
The diet starts tomorrow.
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