‘OK, can we use our fork please, Chloe?’ I ask, trying my best to keep my tone nice and light, as if someone might be listening in and judging my parenting skills as we sit around the dinner table. She wouldn’t nap today and from that moment on I knew the rest of the day was going to be a disaster. I got her into the pram to collect Barnaby from school – there’s no way she would’ve walked there and back and I couldn’t carry her the whole way so it seemed like the best option. After she refused her nap after lunch I knew we were at risk of her having a danger nap but, like an overly keen children’s TV presenter, I was doing my best to keep her chatting and engaged the whole way to pick up. Once we got to the gate, though, Nihal’s mum Neelam asked if Barnaby wanted to go over for a playdate. I must’ve only had my eye off the ball for a minute or so as I enjoyed my one bit of adult interaction for the day, but when I looked down she was sparko. I couldn’t wake her up then (to be honest I was certain she’d lose her shit and I didn’t want to feel that shame while at the school with other parents around), nor during the hour and a half that followed. She woke up five minutes ago in a foul mood and screamed down the house. I’ve had to bribe her into her highchair with the promise of a Nobbly Bobbly for pudding, but even that has lost its appeal right now. She hasn’t eaten a thing. Simply prodded or squished it with her fingers while wearing a face like a slapped arse.

‘You know we don’t eat the spaghetti or our meatballs with our hands, sweetie,’ I sing, sounding utterly pathetic but choosing to focus on my own plate of spaghetti and the therapeutic action of twirling the pasta around my fork.

‘I don’t want it,’ pouts Chloe, lifting her plastic Peppa Pig plate a few inches off the table and banging it down.

‘Chloe! You asked for this!’

‘No …’ she shakes her head, a massive frown glaring back at me.

‘You did. I gave you options when we were walking to school this morning – cottage pie, chicken nuggets or pasta. Remember?’

‘I wanted green cheesy pasta,’ whines Barnaby.