Guilty of not doing stuff with my son because I think it will be a faff, or a struggle or he’ll be too tired or won’t behave. That I’ll be embarrassed having to tell him off, that there will be nappies. Stuff like that.
This weekend I could have said no to 2 things.
One of those things was a party kicking off at his bedtime following a day without a nap. Certainly not ideal. He was showing signs of sleepy-inspired-grumpiness before he’d even been placed into (the frankly brilliant) trousers, tiny shirt and little waistcoat but against our perceived better judgement we proceeded onwards to the party. I’m so glad we did…
The Party. Aged 2 and 2 months.
The room is so big, is it all mine? Can we stay?
The music is loud, is it always that way?
What’s this? This light? It’s bouncing around!
On the wall, on my shirt! and now on the ground!
Can I catch it? Will it hurt? and does it taste funny?
But wait, who’s that? It’s time to go running!
Around and around the tables I go
passed balloons, drinks and knees and that lady’s toes.
There’s no time to stop and no time to sit,
Oh look, there’s my dad! “Dad, dad, dad…
I LOVE IT!