At five thirty this morning a loud bang woke me up: a noise swiftly followed by the clatter of size 2G feet clattering down the stairs.
Finley, dear Darling Finley, had fallen out of bed and had run down the stairs in fright. A few minutes later I tucked him back into bed and returned shivering to mine, grateful for the interruption of a nightmare I had been enduring, and certain sleep would be mine again.
And it was. Until Finley clattered down the stairs again an hour later, wide awake this time, chunnering to himself about the Xbox and play-fighting fresh air on the way down. Readers I was cursing him. I lay there hoping the Pied Piper would turn up. I wished him away for just half an hour and in the midst of my wishing he turned up at my bedside, flicking on the lamp and standing beaming at me with a card and a box of Maltesers.
My very own, funny little Valentine. Aided and abetted by his Daddy, Finn had stashed his Valentine secret in a place he will not disclose and delivered it on a morning I was this close to offering him up for adoption.
I love him so.