If babies could text Vol VII: mummy’s shoulder


I used to think I was a big fan with my wife’s shoulders. Then my son came along and raised the stakes. To say, he’s obsessed by this body part is an understatement. It’s a borderline addiction.

Whenever he wakes up in the middle of the night, it’s all he says. “Mummy’s shoulder.” “Mummy’s shoulder.” “Mummy’s shoulder.” It’s like my wife and I are stuck in dimly-lit nightclub that only has one song, but worse than that it’s also impossible to counter. He won’t be distracted. He won’t take my shoulder. He won’t seek comfort in his favourite cuddly toy. He won’t lie down in our bed. And he won’t swallow Calpol.

His demand is clear and simple. He wants to rest his head on my wife’s shoulder, while she is standing up, rocking from side to side, humming and patting him on the back. And he is going to keep screaming and screaming and screaming until he gets his way.

On the negative side, my wife is absolutely knackered and, bar fetching blankets, ferrying water beakers and switching lights and fans on and off, there is nothing I can do to help her out. On the plus side, it’s surely just a stage, right?

Also, I turned a recent attempt to appease my son’s early morning ire into one of my new ‘if babies could text’ features, and it’s pretty entertaining. Enjoy.

Mummy’s shoulder




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