Just Desserts

It was high time my mother got acquainted with the highly disapproved of Chickie following her smug delivery of a reprieved toddler who had behaved impeccably at her house.
It’s annoying when you bemoan to your family that your child has been tormenting you endlessly with behaviour befitting an appearance on the “House of Horrors”. Then, suddenly, he throws the horns, cape and three pronged fork to one side, buffs his dusty halo, and spends his visit quietly plucking out the tune to Greensleeves on his harp.When it comes to parenting, everyone within earshot believes that they could handle the situation better than the screaming child’s mother, even if they’ve never spoken to a child before.
Hence, if baby is good at Nanna’s house, the good behaviour can be directly attributed to her calm and patient manner which was clearly just the approach baby needed to get back on track.Gloaty Nanna reeled off how he’d eaten all his dinner (specially formulated to contain exactly the right balance of soluble and insoluble fibre), filled his potty right on cue (thanks to dinner), slept through the night, even lying in until 8.45am without a murmur. Feeling betrayed, I praised my treacherous child for being such a ‘good boy’.When she came round the next day, she enquired as to Chickie’s spirits following his return. “He woke up at 4.45am and had a tantrum when I offered him a biscuit” I replied.
“He slept in until 8.45am at our house” she said.
“Yes, you mentioned that”.As Nanna pushed a chirping Chickie off down the road she was still enjoying a self-congratulatory repartee with herself about his reformation.
When she returned, an hour earlier than scheduled, she looked different.
“I let him out of his buggy for a walk” she gasped.
A rookie mistake of course.
She explained how she’d found him less than flexible when it came to getting back in. Forced to sprint the 100 metres after him, she finally cornered him in a lift. Whilst she prayed for breath, Chickie pressed all the buttons, including the alarm.
With the promise of ice cream, he agreed to accompany her to the cafe. Just as Nanna’s top lip touched the froth on her large cappuccino with extra chocolate sprinkles, Chickie finished his ice cream and began to twitch. Then came the writhing, then the shrieking. Nanna could see nothing wrong. “He’s 3” I answered in my head. “That’s what’s wrong.”As Chickie livened up the plans of all those enjoying a relaxing morning coffee, Nanna tried the Twinkle Twinkle routine that had worked so beautifully the night before. He sobbed uncontrollably. Amidst the glares of the entire cafe, Glam-Nan quietly collected her things and made for the door, which the pushchair got wedged in.“Oh no, that sounds awful” I sympathised, loving it.
The smug Nanna of earlier replaced by a dishevelled heap, collapsed on the sofa, with a big bit of froth on her lip.