Why I should listen to my mother and that she is Always Right.

Such is the lesson learned by er pupo this morning. The hard way. The hard as a bathroom unit way.

Boy is notorious for his attempts to leap headfirst from the change table. This morning, he was actually behaving relatively well and we had got as far as the trousers, before he decided that he was bored and that despite it being -7 outside, the sweater was optional. Having realised that if he doesn't move at the speed of light, we will grab him and hold him down (cue: much whinging, wailing, gnashing of teeth and ocassional biting of The Mother Who Doesn't Understand Me) he launched himself at superhuman speed towards the sink unit. Mamma grabbed legs as they slid on the muslin lying on the change table. Legs stopped. Head kept going. Result: one burst lip, enough blood to satisfy the darkest fans of Oliver Stone and a very surprised and sorry expression on a little boy's faced. He looked at me stunned that this could possibly have happened to him and for a moment, I believed that he had in fact realised that my insistence that he lie still on the table was not just an arbitrary decision of mine, but actually served the purpose of facial preservation.

By 4pm he had forgotten the entire incident. Unfortunately.

Otherwise, the now walking boy shows no end to his independence. Neither mother nor father (ESPECIALLY not father) may assist him with the challenges of eating but instead er pupo is perfectly capable of holding his own bowl and his own spoon and steering his dinner into his own mouth. One. Stellina. At. A. Time. 25 Stelline on the floor. Per spoonfull.