Nothing stays still in this wonderful world of parenthood and after a few days of being out of favour I have rocketed to the top of the charts. It's all 'Mummy come! Mummy sit down! Mummy play! Mummy hug! Mummy sleep!'... I'm just a playing, talking, sleeping, walking living Mummy doll at the moment. Whatever I'm doing, he's sitting on my lap doing it for me, or standing behind me putting treasures into my pockets (half eaten cheese, anyone?) or grabbing my thumb and pulling me away from it to play with his trains. He won't even go to bed unless I climb in and squeeze myself beside him to have my nose lavished with damp kisses. If I get up while he's drifting off, he lurches awake a few moments later to appear in the livingroom, squinting and shuffling like a pint-sized zombie to grab my thumb again with the call 'Mummy lie down!'.
He's also becoming funny about sleeping in his own bed. He wants to do it, but he wants to sleep with us too. So he's devised a new sleep pattern in which he wakes up at 2am, tries to get me to sleep in his bed and on failure, climbs into ours, shifts Sammy out of his position curled up by my pillow and lies there moaning 'Charlie bed! Charlie bed' over and over and over until I give in. Once he's asleep in his own bed I climb gratefully back into ours, shift Sammy from where he has re-settled on TOP of my pillow and sleep. This lasts for an hour or so until Charlie reappears, pale and rotund like a little potato fairy, hauls himself up into our bed and the process starts again, only with Sammy less willing to relinquish his position each time. On the third try the spud gives up and finally just falls asleep in our bed hanging on to the cat's tail; a process which the cat seems to have adapted to reasonably well, all things considered.
I am in general ambivalent about this state of affairs. On the one hand, yes, I am mad with Motherly Love that he is once again my little sweetie but on the other, I rather wish he would love me and then at 8pm sharp, leave me for the Land of Nod.