‘Elsa!’ I switch to my best angry voice. ‘Don’t you dare move!’

Mistake. Elsa slams herself down, clutches her face and starts to cry. As I move closer, she throws herself on to her back and starts squirming. In poo.

I literally don’t know what to do. No way can baby wipes sort this out. I need a hose! I grab Mum’s phone off the floor. Maybe I should Google ‘How to change a very bad nappy’ … There’s bound to be a film on YouTube.

‘Mama,’ says Elsa. She’s stopped crying and is reaching for the phone. ‘Ma!’ Elsa can do lots of animal sounds, but she can only say three words: ‘mama’ or ‘ma’ which means Mum, ‘na’ which means no, and ‘da’ which means everything else. ‘Da!’ she says crossly.

‘You want Mum’s phone?’

‘Da! Da!’

‘OK. But you hold on tight. No dropping it “down there”.’ I pass her the phone and she starts to suck it. Then she waves it up and down. Then she sucks it again.

The phone distraction gives me enough time to come up with a plan.

I run a bath then carefully release Elsa from the last bit of nappy. ‘Time for a bath!’ I say, lifting her up and carrying her to the bathroom.

I hold her over the water. When she sees where she’s going, her legs go crazy, pumping up and down, and then her arms join in too. Not only is this going to work, it’s made Elsa really happy! Then I remember what Elsa is holding. ‘Elsa,’ I say, ‘don’t drop Mum’s –’ Splash! ‘– phone!’

With a sigh, I lower her in the water, then pick out Mum’s phone. It’s totally dead. I watch Elsa wriggling around and splashing, my chin resting on the side of the bath, too tired to move out of the way. ‘You broke Mum’s phone,’ I say.

‘Da!’ says Elsa, then she laughs and slams her hands down in the water.

EIGHT

For the next few hours, I try to read through my speech while Elsa trashes the flat. She pulls crystals off shelves, scatters Pongo’s biscuits across the kitchen and throws dirty washing into the empty paddling pool. Pongo follows her around, joining in wherever he can. Basically, they’re partners in crime and although I try to tidy up after them and whip things out of their way, they both move so fast.

Now and then, they turn their attention to me, which is how I end up with a piece of cold toast mashed in between my speech cards. I peel off the toast, and decide to make a start on my geography homework. I’m describing the impact of erosion on glaciers when Pongo snatches the book out of my hands and runs away with it, hiding behind the sofa. When I try to take it back, he thinks I’m playing tug of war and the book ends up with toothy puncture holes all the way through it.