Boing...

I have vague recollections of hoisting Arlo into our bed at some random point through the night but was obviously so knackered it never occured to me to get up and take him back through to his own bleeding bed where I would have escaped the 5.50am kick to the jaw he served me in one of his sprawling arms and legs roll over.

Ooft. I fell asleep pretty sharpish (or maybe he'd kicked me unconscious?) and the next I knew - a whole 5 minutes later - was someone sinisterly whispering in my ear 'I want to get up Mummy'. Cue lots of angry half whispering and mumbling swearing words as I rolled over and demanded more sleep. Little bugger. He actually rolled back over and went to sleep too but our jaw-crack-wanting-to-get-up exchange woke Ida up so I was up and attem from that moment on.

This cartwheel picture is Arlo literally 5 minutes after he got up. I went to get him a cup of milk and came back to him cavorting and careering all over the place. He has to be the most energetic being I have ever come across. I cannae hack the pace!

How can he have such a blatant disregard for the sanctity of sleep? It's beyond me...