We arrived back to London with the A-Team around 4pm on Saturday.
We’d spent the morning hunting for chocolate eggs in the garden and then went for a walk along the beach, where the boys skimmed stones into the sea and helped Jack find tiny little snails in the rocks.
Even though the weather had taken a bit of a cold turn, it still felt good to get some fresh sea air into our city lungs.
Once home, we fed and bathed the boys and around 7.30pm we put them both to bed and retired on the sofa with a box full of chocolate eggs.
At 7.52pm, I heard a little voice calling out ‘Mummy’, so very clearly that he could have been in the next room.
Not again?! I groaned to the Greek God(zilla) and the A-Team through chunks of a Lindt bunny’s ear.
Yet there he was again, standing at the top of the stairs – this time blocked by the stair-gate, but nonetheless, out of his grobag and out of his cot and not where I had safely placed him just 22 minutes before.
I took him back to bed, zipped him back in and waited quietly in his room again until he drifted off to sleep. Although, this time I did not feel the need to also have a little doze of my own.
So, as it would now seem that he is able to climb out of his own cot too and could possibly break an arm or a leg with one bad landing, there is only one thing left to do.
The bars have to come down.
The cotbed that he has slept in for over 2½ years, is to finally fulfill its destiny of becoming a bed.
The grobag that has kept him safe and warm will retire to the loft to join his highchair, feeding bottles and 3-in-1 buggy.
His big boy bedding arrived from John Lewis today. He has a junior duvet and a pillow.
He has told us that it is time.
He is growing up, my little baby.
He is becoming a boy.
All the signs are telling us he is ready, but I am not so sure I am!
When did you realise your baby was no longer a baby?
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