The trouble with toddlers

Eliott is officially a toddler. On the positive side, this means he's getting very clever and you can have a good laugh with him. He is at the height of cuteness and uses his big eyes and cheesy grin to wonderful comic effect. He's very loving and gives delicious kisses that warm me to the bone.

On the downside, he's gone from eating everything I put in front of him to eating only peas, cereal bars, raisins, bread, cheese, yoghurt, fruit (a major bonus), chips and fish fingers. All food must be served separately to avoid cross contamination. Certain foods can only be consumed in certain rooms, i.e. raspberries will disappear at 3pm in the living room, but are treated with the same disdain as rabbit droppings at all other times. Food that is unwanted is either a) thrown on the floor, b) hidden down the side of the highchair/in his hair/down his trousers or c) force fed to me/Matt/the nearest teddy bear.

Meanwhile, Eliott's style of toddler tantrum is usually worthy of an Oscar. He throws himself to the ground, forehead to the floor, and quietly whines, every whimper breaking my heart with the subtlety of a hammer. This morning at the library's "storytime", however, he made the most of his audience (row upon row of robot children, some younger, some older, some the same age as El, but all sat still and silently, patiently listening to a story about a mucky duck while Eliott re-arranged the book shelves and yelled "choo choo" at the toy train that is banned from use during the story session). I could have died. After the fourth purple-faced, screaming session as a result of his removal from the toy train (the final time at the instigation of the story teller) we left in shame. We'll stick to the free-and-easy vibe of the toddler gym in future.

Finally, daytime naps are so last year. As I write he is ranting around in his bedroom, hitting the wall with the plastic rod he has, once again, removed from his window blind.

Can I have my baby back now, please?