Growing up

My son has grown up. He was only three last Thursday but is already showing signs of being far more mature than he was last Wednesday. Do other children mature overnight or is it just Mac?



I first noticed signs of this phenomenen on his actual birthday. We were in Harvesters and up he went to the salad cart but, although he chose his pasta, sweetcorn and cherry tomato dish as usual - he actually chose cucumber slices. Mac hates cucumber. Or he did when he was younger. Just the day before when I tried to sneak some in his cheese and ham sandwich. He ate some again on Saturday while we were at the Hop Farm (exhausting, muddy and smelly but a fab day out) and I was so excited David suggested that I'd had too many E numbers in the sweets on the way to Kent. He was mightily restrained throughout the day, instead of running on ahead and generally going a bit loopy. He strolled off to see the llamas with his father, both with hands behind their back and enjoying their genteel stroll.

On Sunday, at the birthday family gathering he helped me with the food preparation. Normally, this help entails me asking him to do something simple like decide where to put the watercress on the (shop bought) quiche and he gets bored before I've even finished the sentence. On Sunday he did this PLUS butter some crackers, arrange the cheese on the cheeseboard and wash all of the fruit. He even ate a plum. Unprompted. More cucumber was munched during tea - Bea was astonished (she didn't see Saturday's cucumber eating session, she was too busy convincing Caitlin and Ian that they didn't want a bunny rabbit to take home) and offered him another slice. Which he took and ate, after dipping it into the sour cream and chive dip. I had to have a recuperative glass of wine.

And today - well, today was magnificent. After picking him up from nursery ("I had quite a nice day mummy but I don't think I'll go again until Monday") we went off to B&Q to get some paint and some bits and pieces for my decorating extravaganza which will start this weekend. I was standing in a busy aisle deliberating over White with a hint of Barley or White with a hint of Apple for the hallway when a rather large gentleman in a huge strop came at me with one of those trolley things. He rammed straight into me and had the audacity to tut loudly as if it were my fault. His wife looked equally aggrieved with me. I said something along the lines of "Ow that bloody hurt!" and added in a few expletives for good measure. My son, hands on hips, brought the shop to a standstill. "Mummy!" he exploded. "I WILL NOT tell you again. No swearing!"

You could have knocked me down with a paint brush. Suitably chastened (and I actually apologised for getting in the man's way) I paid for my purchases and we left the shop.

As we got in the car Mac leant forward, stroked my arm and said "If you promise to be good for the rest of the day you can have a Happy Meal mummy."

I take it that a gherkin is a cucumber?