I’m not going to sugar-coat it – days with Isabelle are hard. Not because she’s particularly difficult (she’s not) or unusual (she’s not. Well she is, but she’s not) or louder/grumpier/snottier than any other toddler… she’s really really not. She’s just a toddler. And as I approach the time when I can put her to bed and turn out the lights, I am already imagining the sofa, the blanket and my bum upon it and under it. 

From about 5pm I am mustering every ounce of go go go I can. Make supper, have the supper battle (where Isabelle is really hungry but the overwhelming desire to practise her new found skill of asserting herself with a big fat “NO!” means that supper takes LOTS OF TIME…) Bath time, the towel battle, the nappy battle, story time (NO BATTLE!) and finally, bed. “Night night” she says. Often followed by “Toes!” because she can no longer see her feet.