1.   Dawn Presence

2.   Perfect Presents

3.   Present Tense

The Man was away overnight.  I woke at 0615, aware of a presence, a pitter-patter of footsteps, the light touch of hands feeling for me in the dark and a whispered: “Mummy I want a wee.”  “Ok-don’t-worry-I’ll-put-a-light-on.” “It’s coming. Now.”  “Okay-okay-okay.”  We sorted him out, and then Son 1 aged 4y 2m climbed into bed. The idea was that we would cuddle in the cold and have a little snooze.  He didn’t stop talking.  We went downstairs for snacks and drinks, and then heard Son 2 aged 15 m wailing.  “Go upstairs and look after him while I bring the tray up.” Up he went.  Son 2 stopped crying.  When I got up Son 1 had put the lights on, put a balloon in his brother’s cot and was bouncing on the bed to entertain him.  A natural.  I might get him to babysit.

I Christmas-ed shopped at lunchtime.  Nanna is going to see The Family on Saturday, so my meagre pile of presents needed boosting.  And Nanna is going on the train, so the presents must be no weight.  She wanted make-up, which I think is quite cool as she is a lady of a certain age.  I only really managed to get hers, but I was pleased with it.  I looked everywhere for light presents suitable for The Brother and The Godfather.  Socks. Belts. Hankies.  Stuff it we’ll have to pay for lunch next time they visit. Teenaged Niece and Nephew are going to have money, which is all they want anyway.  And then I bought two more books for Son 1.  I had a long, long look for stocking fillers for Son 2.  I really am finding him very hard.  He’s got an ambulance Son 1 picked for his birthday that he likes, but other than it’s remote controls, computers, wires, phones and stairs.  And books. He likes books.  His latest trick is climbing up on the piles in Son 1’s room and surfing down on the top book, but he does like looking at them as well.

The Man came back from his Business Trip, which was a third Good Thing.   He had the shower on for Son 1 when I came up the stairs, which meant he didn’t hear Son 2 screaming because he’d caught his little baby fingers in a cupboard door.  I keep thinking I should just let Son 2 learn the hard way not to play with doors … but then I flash forward to the interview in the Guardian: “I lost the use of my right hand when I was a year old and my fingers got flower-pressed in the door hinge.”  We did the whole of Son 1’s babyhood with just two stair gates, so we still don’t quite believe the way Son 2 climbs on the the things we put down to stop him climbing.  We’re sure that his accepting, biddable side will emerge in a few more weeks.