Everything is a battle with Eddie at the moment, but matters of sartorial choice are the worst.
He uses strange adjectives to explain why he will not wear a particular pair of trousers. They might, for example, be 'too furry', (though I can confirm, categorically, that he does not own a single pair of fur trousers) 'not bony enough' (likewise) and often complains that the pockets are 'bumpy'.
His wardrobe is extensive, which is what happens when you have an older brother and get all his hand-me-downs; but only two or three items remain eligible for actual wearing at any given time.
This means that mornings are often fraught and it is easiest to let Eddie dress himself.
Which is how he ended up at church this morning clothed in mismatched stripey socks, the lower half of his Ugandan national team football kit, and a t-shirt with a monster on it. Not exactly Sunday best, more like 'Sunday mess', but at least we managed to leave the house without a row.
Though he decided to announce loudly, delightedly and without preamble during the quiet moment of reflection between the gospel and the homily, 'MUMMY, I HAVEN'T GOT ANY PANTS ON UNDER MY SHORTS.'
A pause, and then a stage whisper, ''SHALL I SHOW YOU?'
Even the priest looked like he had to suppress a giggle, though some older members of the congregation were less understanding.
We didn't stay for coffee this morning.
Currently reading: Living With It by Lizzie Enfield