The words “no, Max” must have left my mouth 22 million times. It made no difference.
At full pelt, my two-year-old son ran at a tower of toilet rolls, smashing the packs in all directions as his manic laugh boomed into every corner of the supermarket.
It’s great fun knocking over towers of bog roll. It’s even more fun to do it when mum has said “no”. I get it. But for the love of the parenting gods, couldn’t my little dude just listen to me once in his short little life?
And I know I’m not alone. Every parent I talk to could wax lyrical about how their young children create such euphoric levels of love while also plunging them into blood-boiling despair when they dig their heels in. My “no” means nothing when he has his cheeky, misbehaving “no!”.
I won’t dress it up. I have a serious patience tester on my hands. The words ‘strong willed’ have been used constantly since a few days after he was born and he bucked off the swaddled blankets wrapped by a midwife known as the “best swaddler in the ward”.
I can’t wait until his iron will, mixed with his low level needs for sleep, means he has the perfect stamina to be a CEO or maybe even Prime Minister one day. But until then, what?