I’m not going to lie to you, Henry is in a very difficult stage at the moment. And I’m not calling him difficult, I mean I’m finding it difficult. And today I had a realisation. It’s like having a teenage girl in the house! Take yesterday for example. I was in the kitchen starting dinner. He was sat in the hallway, spinning some plastic rings, quite happily. The second I came back into the living room, he started having a meltdown. Tears, shouting, and screaming. He then stood up against the sofa, hugging my leg and sucking his thumb. But by the time I’d finished typing that sentence, he was his usual happy self again!
Anyway, you get the drift. When he’s in one of these moods. All he wants to do is get his touchy-feely board books and repeatedly read them. Over and over again. I’m not going to lie to you, it drives me insane. I spent an hour this morning, reading ‘That’s not my fox’ over and over. The only reason he let me stop was because Daddy came home for his lunch. He went up for his nap after lunch and I finally got some time to myself, albeit for 40 minutes. But the second he woke up, he started whinging and bugging me to read those bloody books! I am ashamed to admit that I hid said book because if I’d read them one more time, I’d have lost my mind!
But then, I stopped. And thought. He’s only 17 months old. All he wants is to curl up with his Mummy and have her read his books to him. Yes, it’s annoying and repetitive but one day, this will all stop. And once I’d realised that I felt so unbelievably guilty. And I cried. I pulled Henry up onto my lap and snuggled under a blanket, put the fairy lights on and read his books to him as often as he wanted. And he was happy.
I’ve got to remember that he’s only going to be this age once. I’ve got to cherish every second of his baby years because they’ll be gone in the blink of an eye.