I was loading the dishwasher last night when a little pink streak shot past me into the kitchen, snatched something out of the drawer, and ran, chortling, up the stairs. LMonkey business was afoot. We’ve had to deal with some very challenging behaviour lately. I couldn’t bear to look, so I sent Daddy to investigate.
He was gone for ages. Meanwhile, I pretended not to realise that the lack of noise from upstairs was probably a cause for concern. I’d just finished loading up, and was contemplating accidentally-on-purpose dropping the last couple of things that wouldn’t fit in (because hand washing dishes is, like, sooo last century), when Daddy called me upstairs.
‘He’s been such a good boy’, Daddy said. Apparently Freddie had simply decided for himself that it was bath time, had arranged his shampoo, body wash, and the rubber hair-washing jug on the side of the bath, put his toilet seat and step in position, and got himself undressed before remembering to fetch his medicine syringe from the kitchen. By the time Daddy got upstairs he was already sitting on lavatory. Daddy ran the bath for him, but he brushed his own teeth, of his own accord, and washed himself all over. By the time I got upstairs he had his pyjamas on and was sitting in bed reading a book.
We praised him extravagantly, because this is just the sort of behaviour we want to encourage. But, not wishing to sound ungrateful, we’d like to encourage it to occur an hour later, at the usual time – because early to bed means a 5.30am wake-up call for Mummy, who doesn’t do that sort of thing (unless she’s catching a flight somewhere exotic. Which never happens. So no, she definitely doesn’t do that sort of thing).
Of course, this probably means only one thing – the rest of the week can only go downhill from here.