I have five minutes to type this, with no editing or correction possible, so if you see any errors be sure to let me know. Love that.

So this weekend we managed to get the little man sleeping in a bed. Not a crib or cot or anything, but a bed, for a big boy. I don’t feel sad about seeing his baby years fall away from him, mainly because he is becoming such a great little guy to be around. But there is, none the less, a sense of change, which, like all well rounded fully realised adults, I fight against with all I have.

See, you might say to me that yes, this change or that change is good and right and proper, but until I step off the cliff and land in the water, I’m going to hedge and edge and worry and doubt and fret and wonder and argue and … just take the jump!

Seeing him snuggle under his Minions duvet, so happy and cosy, was a treat, it was delightful. I have the best kid in the world, so my life is a lot easier than others. And he seemed to take to it with ease, other than difficulties on his parents’ part in deciding the bedtime routine. But he is not a baby, not a toddler really, but a young boy. He scrambles up the stairs ahead of me with full confidence, and the same goes for everything else.

Yeah. So, there’s that.