In which I give my 3 year-old a knife to play with.

I took DS out for ‘coffee’ this morning. Well I had coffee, he had frothy milk and a chocolate muffin. And a knife…the muffin came with a knife. It wasn’t something designed for surgery, it was more a muffin slicing, butter spreading type affair but I whipped it away quick smart.  Knives and 3 year olds are not thought to be a good combination.

My mistake was moving too fast; kids of this age equate swift movements with the removal of something desirable and he was in noisy tears before I could say ‘look darling, I’ve got Thomas in my pocket’.  He wasn’t fooled and continued pointing and wailing,  which soon escalated into good old-fashioned screaming. The man at the table next door moved and I earned a ‘look’ from a trio of pensioners a couple of tables away. Thankfully the mums nearby looked sympathetic, for which I was grateful, but DS got louder and louder until I caved- and handed him the knife. He shut up immediately and spend a happy 20 minutes reducing the unlucky cupcake to crumbs with his prize. Some of it got eaten but he had fun sprinkling the rest over his milk and torpedoing them with his chocolate stick.

I got to drink my coffee in peace, as did everyone else and DS didn’t poke his eye out or amputate a digit so in the end, what harm was done? Apart from to DS, who now believes he can get anything if he screams loudly enough, and to who ever had to clean up the remains of what used to be a chocolate muffin.