It's been two and a half years since we had our little bundle of joy and in all that time, we've not had a good sleep in unless he was, as he was last night, up until 10:30 at a barbeque and so tired that he was moaning and covering his eyes at 9am begging for more sleep.
Anyway, so we take turns getting up and sleeping in and at least once a week we both, individually, get a nice lie in. This changed recently. One morning I woke up and he was insinuated beneath the duvet between us, as he is most mornings. How he gets there I often no longer know, I just wake up and there he is, eyeballs about an inch from mine and his mouth about two centimetres from my ear asking after the where-abouts of his aeroplane or perhaps his train. Then, after several tries he goes from one to the other shouting 'wake up' until one of us does.
Anyway, on this particular morning it was all different. Not at first it wasn't. There were the eyes, the request for the aeroplane... but I was tired. Very tired. I had been travelling for about 100 years and I was bushed. The frog was tired too. Very tired. He had been on his own with the spud for about 100 years and he was bushed. I heard myself say 'well, go and get your aeroplane, it's in your room' and the last thing I remember his his smiling little face as he backed down the bed, slid on to the floor and paddled off to his room.
The next thing I knew it was two hours later and there was an almighty crash. I looked at the clock and I'm not quite sure how I got into the livingroom but telekenesis may have been involved. There he was, looking guilty as hell with one of our remote controls lying on the floor, it's guts lolling onto the rug. I took inventory and it was, frankly, amazing. There were lines of cars marshalled on each arm of the sofa. His room was upside down but the rest of the flat was remarkable.
I breathed deeply and happily and for one blissful, mad second I thought 'Oh my, this is great, now we don't have to get up for him every morning.
Of course, two seconds later I realised that down this road lies not only madness but a kitchen swimming in spilled juice, smashed glasses, overflowing baths and lord knows what else. The spud being the spud, having mornings free from parents would be a license to hunt down any and all things forbidden and stack chairs and stools and cushions until they could be reached and dragged down, hopefully before the towers of furniture fall and land said toddler on his tushie. Or worse.
So, we truck on much as before, getting up in the morning and staving off, day by day, the morning we wake up and the flat is sailing down the middle of our street on a tide of tap water.