I REMEMBER when Ben was a baby how long it took to get out of the house simply due to the sheer weight of gear needed to accompany a newborn.

As a brand new, slightly hysterical new mother, I remember being petrified that I would be caught in the middle of WestQuay without the right nappy/bottle/food stuff/toy/ blanket – and so, by and large, the lot came with us.

Ridiculous, looking back on it. I couldn’t wait until Ben was old enough to toddle around, understand things and be able to survive without the need of a trailer of goods following us behind. How wrong I was. Generally, my timekeeping has seen no improvement and I have simply swapped one problem for another.

I still can’t browse the shops with ease, I still rush through the aisles at a rate of knots and curse those able-bodied people who insist on using the lifts in John Lewis.

It is no longer getting the shopping in while he sleeps – it’s getting it in before his very low threshold of boredom turns him into the devil child. The art of negotiation also takes time these days. In fact, there is no negotiation at all if I’m honest. Battle of wills I would say covers it best.

I suggest getting shoes on, he runs away.

I grab him, pin him to the floor strap them on – he pulls them off. I suggest getting in the car. He prefers to stay and stick arious things up his nose.

So, again, brute force is required. And then there is the car seat.

It really should be a round on the recently resurrected Krypton Factor. Getting a screaming squirming, arched back child into a harness, while pinning him down with your elbows and trying not to put your back out as you crane awkwardly over the back seat.

By the time we get anywhere I am usually flustered and slightly sore. But Ben, the little darling, quickly twigs he is in company and turns on the charm, big smiles, big hugs, big blooming show off.