Last night Juliet and I took Max out for a meal at his great grandparents’ home. It meant, naturally, staying out way past his bedtime but once in a while doesn’t hurt. He fell asleep in the car on the way over, which isn’t exactly unusual given his age (17 months) and was, consequently, quite quiet once we arrived. He perked up a bit once he got his mitts on a pickle (he really is a chip off the old block, bless him) and even more so once some more family arrived with their kids.
By the time we’d been sitting down to our meal for a bit he was running around the table with another child in hot pursuit and laughing like a drain, courtesy of sugary food and the inevitable excitement of playing with someone a bit nearer his own age than his parents.
When we left, late by Max’s terms but not really that late, he was pretty hyper, which kept him awake all the way home and me wondering whether he’d ever sleep again. As it turned out we needn’t have worried. Once we’d got him into his cot he went out like a light and slept until a tad after his usual wake up time. To be honest, it was so lovely watching him have a good time that I’d have been reasonably happy if he’d woken up early, but don’t tell Juliet that.