my son made me do it...

I was supposed to be on a stupid de-tox. For those of you who know me, I'm much more of a re-toxer kind of gal but I decided it would be a good idea as I need to lose some weight / get fit / stop using just having had a baby as an excuse to eat 15 biscuits and drink 3 bottles of wine in one sitting (delete as appropriate. Oh wait. They all are).

So, the detox is off. The wine is on and after a pretty hideous day I have to say I am delighted with these two facts.

Today, Arlo took me to a point of parenting I didn't know existed. The 'wanting-to-sit-down-and-cry-in-John-Lewis' point of parenting. Ooft. I don't think it would have been so bad if it hadn't been my first attempt at taking both children out for the day ALLONMYOWN, but it was.

I spent (literally) 3 hours getting everything ready for going to the big park up at the Meadows - bottles, check. Change of clothes for baby, check. Change of clothes for child, check. Sandwiches made, check. Picnic packed, checked. Baby dressed, checked. Child dressed, checked, Mummy dressed, check. Money in purse for bus, check. Changing bag packed, check. Fielding 5000 questions of 'are you finished yet?', 'Can we go now?', 'How much longer, Mummy', check.

2 tantrums before leaving the house (Arlo, not me. Although nearly). 1 small tantrum at the park (nobody even noticed it was that small), then a smattering of naughty bits and bobs (all handleable), then the almighty 'I'm going to ramp this up to the power of 20 and watch my Mummy crumble' one came out in the lovely John Lewis. You know that advert where the kid has a tantrum in the shop and the Mum ends up having one too? Arlo's tantrum would have embarrassed them both into peeing their pants. Thats how bad it was.

Snotty nosed, red faced, clinging the the pram with 'broken' legs so it looked like I was dragging an injured soldier, against his will, through the shoe department he roared at the top of his lungs 'I waaaaaaaaaaaaant a preeeeeeeeeeeseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeent'. He then let go of the pram, rolled around the floor, called me a poo-poo (I need to work on that boy's vocabularly) and told everybody I stank. He ran off, laughing/crying (hard to tell by this stage) and pretended he was going to run down the escalators, before cutting back on hiimself and running in the other direction.

All of this because I asked him to stay where I could see him.

Where DOES he get his sense of drama from I ask you?

Now, back to this wine. I need it I tell thee for without it I will curl up and die after the hideous nightmare that today has brought. Oh please, my friends, please, feel my angst, my pain, share in the hellish tragedy that is my life and raise a glass to me, for I deserve it...

Drama, Arlo? You aint seen nothin YET.