I want to get Brendan's haircut. We've only trimmed it once and it was one of those DIY "bowl cut" classics that we each have pictures of from our own childhoods. It also really wasn't very much fun at all, and so today when we heard that swimming was cancelled, I decided to take him to a barbershop that had been recommended to me by a couple of local mums.
Brendan doesn't have a nap until well into the afternoon and so I hoped that setting off straight after breakfast would mean I'd catch him at his brightest, and subsequently there would be less screaming, howling and general trashing of the place.
As we approached the barbers I peeked into the buggy to find him out like a light, completely sparko, despite him sleeping through the night for the first time in weeks. This NEVER happens. Brendan could have the most disrupted night's sleep on record and still keep going, like an irritable Duracell bunny, until gone lunchtime.
To be honest I have come to rely on that, to make sure we're home for his nap time so I can do my chores in peace and then enjoy a little bit of "me-time" with a cuppa. Ask any mum or dad: "me-time" is the Holy Grail of parenthood and there are days I'd gladly swap a kidney for just five minutes more.
At first I was thrown and more than a little miffed that I'd be losing out later. "Nooooooooo!" I thought with increasing hysteria. "When am I going to find my P60? What about the ironing? I need to book Brendan's appointment with the ENT specialist! AND WHAT ABOUT MY "ME-TIME" FOR CRYING OUT LOUD???"
Then I realised my son had given me a little gift. If we were at home right now I'd be up to my elbows in laundry and admin while Brendan snoozed away unawares. Instead, I'm seeking refuge from the snow in the Hilton lobby with a lovely pot of English Breakfast, some posh biccies, chillout music and my iPad. Bliss.
Keep sleeping, Son!