Fantasy land

Last night I watched Legends of the Fall for the first time. Or should I say, I watched half of it until Matt started dropping strong hints for me to turn it off by burying his head under pillows and the duvet and sighing and tutting at regular intervals.

In some distress (Pitt had just sprouted his beard) I decided to get my self off to sleep (excuse the pun) with a nice Brad-flavoured fantasy. 'Brilliant,' I thought, snuggling down under the duvet and recalling images of him taming that wild horse (yee haw).

Then the fantasy machine kicked into action.

'Now, I don't want to cheat on Matt so I'll have to engineer a way that I can get off with Brad and not feel guilty. Ok, so Matt had an affair and we're on a trial separation. Eliott can't be anywhere near so I'll have to send him to my mum in France for a week or so. Matt won't like that, he wouldn't want Eliott to be out of the country for a whole week without him, especially with things the way they are between us. Ok, don't worry about that, it's not important. Now, how do I meet Brad? It'll have to be work-related. I'm unlikley to get any one-off film-related commissions so maybe I've been given a short-term contract for a film magazine. But I wouldn't really want to do that would I? Ok, Ok. So Brad's working for a charity (I'll decide which one in a bit) and I'm writing a piece for Marie Claire...no, no, a magazine I've already worked for is more likely. Red! I'm doing something for them and they loved it so much they have given me a regular spot with the freedom to interview who I want. Fantasy land! Actually though, that reminds me, I must finish up that box-out for the article I'm writing for them....no, no, no, don't think about work. Brad Brad Brad. Ok, I'm doing a piece for Red about celebrities and charity and Brangelina are in town - wait, can't have her involved. She can be out at a function in a London hotel. No, no, because then she could come back early and catch us. Better she's at home in the states, pregnant again - no, no, no. Can't do it with a man who has a pregnant wife back at home. She's left him! She's left him to be reunited with Billy Bob Thornton (now that would make a good feature - celebs who rebound to their exes...) Stoppit! I'm thinking about work again. Stay focused. Brad, Brad. So Ange has left him and he's here and I've been sent to interview him. Now what should I wear and should I carry a bag or not? Oh God, what if I'm on my period???'

At this point I got too stressed about the whole thing and passed out.

Thankfully, I had a wonderful dream about snogging Jason Lee. He was in character as Earl Hickey and I swapped a ticket to a nightclub for a delicious fumble.

The subconscious is a wonderful and simple thing.

Big bed

On Sunday I woke up with this crazy idea Eliott should be in a big bed. I don't know why. Matt promptly got his tool box out (fnar) and we set about turning the cot bed into a junior bed. Eliott watched in amazement (and bewilderment) as the bars were taken down and he eyed-up his chance for freedom.

He spent the rest of the day going up and down the stairs into his room and leaping about wildly on the bed.

We talked about how big a boy he was now and how wonderful sleeping in a big bed would be. Eliott looked a bit unsure.

At 8pm he went to bed. And then got up. And went to bed. And then got up. And went to bed...repeat, until I sat on the floor with him looking up at me from the big bed, terrified, for an hour. He finally fell asleep.

At 6.30am Monday morning (and bear in mind Eliott usually gets up at 8) I heard the creak of his bedroom door and he appeared beside me. He got into our bed and tried, unsuccessfully, to get back to sleep, falling out of our bed in the process.

On Monday afternoon, when he refused point blank to take a much-needed nap, the bars went back up.

I guess we're just not ready.

Hot topics...hop topics...hot topics

If I had to drink baby milk before boarding a plane (bear in mind I would be pumped full of vodka and valium) I would throw up. Would they still let me on?

Eliott is into Spiderman, the movie (yes, I know he's officially ten years too young but scene selection has big advantages). Is it inappropriate for me to now regularly use the line: "If you climb out of your pram, the Green Goblin will get you. He is loose in Balham. I've just seen it on the news."?

If I don't find a case study who is in her thirties and living back at home with her parents after a relationship breakdown, death or divorce soon, I am going to implode. Help me!

Who keeps digging up the cat's grave next door? It's a big mystery.

I have a wrinkle. I'm blaming weight loss. Matt blames the passage of time. Discuss.

Clothes and birthdays

Although I'm not a size 00 by any stretch of the imagination, I am feeling substantially lighter following my bout of lurgy. To celebrate, I bought a new dress to wear on Friday night for Matt's birthday celebrations.

After El's birth I realised my clothes-buying mantra had changed from "would Kate Moss be seen dead in it?" to "can I tumble dry it?" - not a good shift in terms of fashion cred. Now the focus tends to be on "can I get away with a browse around H&M before Eliott loses the will to live?"

I lost him three times on Friday. During the Debenhams incident (which happened straight after he'd spent the duration of my trying-on session looking under other women's cubicle curtains and giggling), he escaped from his pram while I was taking a mobile call. As I searched desperately between row-upon-row of John Rocha's celtic and ethnic fusions, I could hear his crazy laugh and his trainers, elusively slapping the tiled floor as he ran further and further away. I finally caught up with him hiding behind a vast Debut dress and the air was blue, I can tell you. In Zara he did another bloody Houdini and I found him minutes (that felt like hours) later, stood by the third-floor window, gazing down onto Croydon's high street and banging his fists against the glass like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate. At least Woolies was easy; I just had to find the Buzz Lightyear aisle.

Eventually I resorted to desperate measures to keep him still and happy; a McDonald's Rolo milkshake (I know), which bought me enough time to pick a dream dress from TopShop (gold, mini, hand wash only - positively exotic!)

All this running away in crowded shopping malls is not good for my nerves, although, like the lurgy, it does wonders for my waistline. The concept of "Tot Grab Man" isn't sinking in and I'm buggered if I know how to stop him flitting the pushchair. Friends have suggested reigns (ha!) or a wrist link (ha ha!) - but Eliott is a stubborn boy who won't be tethered. (I also admit without reservation that he is stronger than me and would win, hands down, in a fight.)

I think our shopping days together may be numbered.