We survived our first sleepover last night. I was dreading it but it was sort of a win-win situation in the end. We got to go to a friend's wedding and drink Bucks Fizz and stay in an hotel and the spud got to go to his friend's house and run his friend's parent's ragged.
It's funny. I have just got to the point where I have come to terms with the fact that the baby I had for five minutes has mutated into a toddler but now the toddler has turned into a little boy who looked at his father yesterday and said 'That's a nice jacket Daddy' and then went off to find one of his own to model in the mirror.
My Mummy-brain quite pleased by this. I have, you see, this secret dream to raise the perfect man. Oh yes and I also know I'm the first woman to ever have this plan. Er. Anyway. Yes, so this is my cunning plan, to raise him to look after his appearance, respect his education and have the freedom of expression to be anything he wants to be. You know. Except, say, a footballer. But I'll teach him to work out. And wash. And to study. And read. And to be compassionate and funny and aloof. And to know music and what to wear and how to shop with women. Anything so that he's not the bespectacled, ridiculed spod sitting on his own in the cafeteria that I used to be. Mind you, I'm pretty sure my Mum had a go at trying to tell me what to do but I suspect I may not have been listening. Much.
But this thing, this thing of posing in mirrors... it might have to go. Today he was showing off in his underpants. I mean, with his parentage I have to say it's an unlikely scenario but can you imagine the horror of your son becoming, say, an underwear model? Oh yes, handsome and wealthy and attractive, great; but I can't quite imagine being able to come to terms with driving into town and seeing my boy's nether regions blown up on a bill-board. It would either bring back some vestigial urge to give them the once-over with a pack of wet-wipes or make me drive into a wall out of embarrassment. I just think that by the time he's at an age where he would rather die then have me see him naked I'll be more than happy to give up the privledge.
Anyway, where was I? So yesterday afternoon he walked out of the door with his Dad carrying his little suitcase; he kissed me goodbye and waved and then apparently behaved beautifully all evening, slept like a dream and woke up bright as the day. When we got home they were all playing football in the park and he was pleased to see us but not enough to come running over until we were close enough that he didn't have to raise a sweat.
And that was that, the first sleepover, done and dusted. Think I might wait for the next one, he may be ready to be a little boy but I'm not quite there yet.