TATE has got his one-year booster injections this week and I’m dreading it.
In his short little life he has already been prodded and poked with more needles than I can bare to think about, due to several baby illnesses.
And every time it happens he looks at me with his big blue eyes and I know he’s thinking ‘mummy why are you letting these strangers do this to me?’
It’s a challenge I never thought I would be dealing with as a mum, being torn between wanting to protect your baby and comfort them when they are in pain, and knowing that you have to let it happen to stop further pain in the future.
This time I will be going armed with a bottle of milk and an Easter egg as a reward for his bravery, however I’m sure this will be little consolation to the nurses and patients in the doctors waiting room, when they have to endure my little boys high pitched distress call.
Imagine a woman screaming and then times it by several decibels and you’re close to what Tate sounds like when he’s upset and angry.
EVERY Friday Tate spends the day with his grandma and grandad. It’s great for all of them, they love spoiling him rotten and he loves the free rein they give him.
Unfortunately on his last visit with the grandparents this freedom went a little too far.
They had brought him home for me, and while my mum and I went to do a little bit of wedding dress shopping, Grandad was in charge.
As I’ve explained in previous columns, Tate has serious toilet issues, so when it’s time to go for a number two he is promptly sat on the potty.
On this occasion my dad made a school boy error. He left Tate sat on his potty in the front room while he went into the kitchen ... apparently the flat went quiet.
I’ve cottoned on to the theory pretty quickly that when it comes to kids if they are quiet, they are usually up to no good.
And Tate was definitely up to no good.
When I got back in the house I was greeted by a beaming little boy, who was bathed and ready for bed and a sheepish looking grandad.
The events which followed the silence involved my dad going back into the front room to find Tate waving, squashing and generally playing with what he had produced in his potty.
Everyone else thought it was disgusting but hilarious, I was mortified and I will be bleaching that particular part of the floor continuously for however long I live there.
My dad is now under strict instructions never to leave Tate on his potty on his own again.