They grow up so fast…

I know they say that children grow up faster these days but lately Poppet is taking the mickey. And to cap it all she can’t decide whether she’s going to be a stroppy teenage thorn in my side or a thirty-something tea-sucking bossy-boots.

She awoke on Easter Sunday a normal enough 7-year-old, racing downstairs to see if the Easter Bunny had been. Of course he had, and he’d left her a chocolate rabbit plus a Barbie Easter egg with obligatory bling accessories which made her squeal with glee – this was all pre-dawn by the way so you can imagine how delighted I was for her, since Sunday is my day for a lie-in. By lunchtime rather a lot of chocolate had been eaten in front of the TV and maybe that’s what brought on the bout of adolescence when she was told to find something else to do. She threw an almighty tantrum with full Kevin the teenager arm waving and stomping, yelling ‘It’s so unfair!’ However by tea time, after an afternoon of drawing and playing she was all but middle- aged, requesting a cup of tea with her hot-buttered muffins and remonstrating with Pickle for not sitting still on his chair. Now I’m no psychologist but the girl seems a bit confused?!

Pickle, on the other hand, is in full regression, incapable of doing anything for himself, staying in one place for more than thirty seconds or resisting any distractions. He won’t eat unaided - ‘Mummy feed me!’- his idea of putting his own shoes on is holding out his foot to me and if you send him to get dressed you’ll find him an hour later, still in PJs (or possibly stark naked if you’re lucky), playing with some piece of plastic which has been lying in a corner for several months. Ironically he is still wiping his own bum, maybe there is hope.

And me? I think I can feel another grey hair coming on.