Pain aux raisins, vin rouge and tantrums...

....but not in that particular order.
Please God HELP ME! I can't stop eating French pastries. Honestly I'm even fantasising about them. Waking at 5am and languishing (alone...yes still...) in my king size bed, tossing and turning from side to side with thoughts of light, flaky pastry with gooey, syrupy custard fillings and raisins all stuffed into my mouth...chopping, mmmm...chewing...yummm...slurping, even. Oh and chocolate chips. Don't want the humble chocolat chip(!) to feel left out.
It's all Aged P's fault of course. After tomorrow when he departs for Angletterre I (hopefully) won't be letting another delicious pastry touch my lips. There is no way Roy (who arrives Thursday) will allow any of these bad boys to slip into the weekly shopping trolley, so unless I take up an elicit affair with a tray of pain au chocolat (stuffing them seductively down my trousaurs for safe keeping..now there's a thought!), I'll hopefully still be a size 10 before the six months are up. Hopefully... ;o)
Another, rather surprising, turn up for the books is that I've seemed to developed a small liking for red wine. Astonishing I know and also rather handy being in the land of the grape and all. However, before I admit defeat and sign up for AA I've realised why bored housewife's (or husbands...not one to be sexist) enjoy the odd Gin or two around 5pm before their beloved returns from a hard day at the office. I'll tell you why. Because looking after a 15 month old little boy day in and day out with no break or help is BLOODY HARD WORK! I recalled (at 5am this morning, my 'hour' for peace and solitude to ponder life's conundrum's) having said to my dear friend Kelly a few months ago.."I'm really enjoying this stage, now that Raffers is a bit older, he can say things and communicate with me. I'm really enjoying it."
Mmmmm..indeed he can communicate and say things effectively. He can communicate through the art form of the 'punch' or the more moderate form of the 'hit'. His ability to throw things is coming along nicely, ditto smashing and breaking things. But the piece de resistence is the tantrum. This truly takes some skill and natural ability, to which, luckily, my son is a dab hand. A proud mother I am at his eagerness to demonstrate such a talent, especially in the supermarket, or when putting him in the buggy, or the car seat (a particular favourite of mine). The reverse banana is a tough move to master.
Joking aside, I know it won't last forever and it's not as if it's ALL the time. Only usually when surrounded by gentle, sweet French children (who I swear to God don't have tantrums) and their parents are looking at me with pity and probably wondering how I manage to make it through the day sober! Well, what can I say, like mother like son. I don't remember being 15 months old, but I remember screaming and crying and taking all my clothes off in a black cab on our way to see Father Christmas at Hamleys in London. My sister and dear mother looking on astonished and visibly traumatised. Well, I was hot!
Anyway, I'm sure Raffers will be different. And if not there's always Super Nanny!