One of the things with having a small child is that even the seemingly routine can sometimes become the sort of challenge that makes Dunkirk look like shelling peas.
Take last weekend, for example, when we decided to go a pub for Sunday lunch.
Once at the venue, little one headed for the play area and we asked the chefs for a portion of vegetables not cooked in butter, as little one is dairy intolerant.
I then went to check on our child and found her in a car with a man she hadn’t met before
Admittedly, the man was only two and the car was being driven by Peppa Pig.
Nevertheless, being the responsible father I am, I told my daughter never to accept lifts in cars driven by Peppa Pig and took her to our table.
There, I discovered I’d neglected to mention the dairy-free portion was only meant to be for a toddler and as result we had enough to feed us, Peppa Pig and all members of the extended Pig family.
It then turned out it wasn’t going to feed our little one however, as, furious at having her ride with the dashing young man curtailed, she went into one of those extended tantrums that has the whole pub looking at you with a mixture of despair and contempt.
Eventually, after a few mouthfuls, she went back to the play area while we ate our meal as quickly as possible.
Back home, little one showed off her new trick of using the table by her cot to almost climb out of said bed, which led to football being shelved again in favour of re-arranging little one’s room – all to the soundtrack of grumpy toddler who was grouchy because, having eschewed the lunch option, she was still hungry.
Next week we’re going to play a new game called watch the F1 and football.
It’s dead easy and we can all play it together for hours on end.