WHEN I came into work this week my friend asked the usual questions: how was your weekend? How’s the little one? I think by the end of the conversation she wished she had never asked!
Like most weekends, I jumped on the train with Tate on Friday and we headed down to Cambridge to spend the weekend with his dad.
I’ve tried to explain to my husband how Tate’s tantrums are escalating on a daily basis but he has yet to witness one of his episodes in the flesh – that is until this weekend.
Tate successfully managed to bring me to tears and he had his dad with his head in his hands.
Although I’m used to the tantrums now, I do find it difficult to deal with them in public.
John was playing rugby so we went along to watch and being a new wife on the block I was hoping to make a good impression.
Tate soon put paid to that. I needed to go to the loo and Tate had to come with me as I couldn’t leave him on the rugby pitch sidelines on his own because his dad was busy and Tate likes to turn into a kamikaze child and run in amongst 15 18-stone rugby players in search of the ball.
I soon regretted trying to take him with me when he did his flappy fish routine, screaming and writhing around. I had him upside down, holding an arm and a leg by the time I made it to the toilet.
He then threw himself from wall to wall in the cubicle still screaming until I couldn’t take it any more and I stomped out of the rugby club with him screaming behind.
Unfortunately John happened to arrive off the pitch at that moment and I burst into tears – I’ll never make a WAG!
He took control of the situation and I went and sulked in the car. There’s nothing worse as a parent than feeling everybody watching you as you deal with your troublesome two-year-old.
Although one lady came up to me afterwards and said ‘we’ve all been there’ you can’t help but feel like they are judging you.
Next on the list of meltdowns was bed time. For once I took a back seat and actually, shamefully, I quite enjoyed watching John take on the battle instead of me for a change.
Tate spent about two hours climbing out of his travel cot and John spent the same length of time putting him back in.
Tate used all of his tricks – screaming, asking for more milk, asking for a story, asking to sleep in our bed and my personal favourite, “daddy, I need a poo”.
John was a broken man when Tate finally gave in and went to sleep. I think he has a bit more respect for me now he knows how exhausting a stubborn Tate can be.
ON a lighter note, Tate has taken to singing to himself which is the cutest thing to watch when he doesn’t know you are there.
His favourites are Incey Wincey Spider, The Wheels on the Bus and Life is a Highway, courtesy of Disney’s Cars.
Hearing him make up the words he doesn’t know makes my heart melt, it’s strange how the smallest things make being a parent so rewarding.