Of all the things about motherhood that fill me with horror and is enough to make me publicly disown my child, it is the occasion when he chooses to have a tantrum when we are out.
Like the tantrum he had because he didn’t want to have a make-sure-wee before leaving the coffee shop.
The coffee shop we’d gone to on the spur of the moment. Because I wanted to treat him. Because the sun was shining. Because the rain had stopped. Because we could. Because Wimbledon is on the BBC every afternoon for the next 10 days.
Sticking to the usual collection-from-nursery routine now appears to have been the safer option …
What’s your not-so-private nightmare?