This week I got the message loud and clear that this child needs to get outdoors and run around. A lot. I got the message that this child should not, under any circumstances, be taken all the way to Putney in a buggy, then be taken out of his buggy only to be put straight into a high chair for lunch without any opportunity to run around in between, and be expected to sit happily and quietly and compliantly as I attempt to gossip with my cousin. I got the message that, after the ensuing earth-shattering, mortifying tantrum, Samuel and I may not be welcome in any branch of Carluccio's for quite some time.
I learned a lot from that little incident. This kid has energy to burn and woe betide you if you don't let him burn it. As a result we've been getting out and about and running free every day - often a couple of times a day. Sometimes it's the playground. Sometimes it's the park. But yesterday we decided to go and investigate the state of our garden for the first time this year. This is not as straightforward as it sounds, given that to get there we have to negotiate 50 steps, a scary path of brambles and a decaying fox carcass. Actually it wasn't too bad out there - the bulbs are growing and there's almost as much grass on the ground as there is moss. Samuel certainly enjoyed investigating. Seriously, I've never spent this much time outdoors in my adult life. If things carry on like this, I could be seriously in danger of losing my milk-bottle-goth pallor this summer.