"Slinky, Slinky...Such a Wonderful Toy - I Mean Boy!"

"Dada, there is something in my nappy" Egg says to Jay this morning. I am upstairs with Dumpie but can hear the conversation quite clearly. Egg says this in a tone which implies that it is a freak occurance and has possibly nothing to do with himself..as if aliens have come down and placed a perfectly formed turd in his underpants while he was happily playing with his toys.

"But you're not WEARING a nappy Egg!" I hear Jay shout. I know it's evil but i can't help but giggle to myself. (It's nice when your other half learns appreciation for what you suffer on a daily basis.) What ensues is some yelping, tears, protests and grunts of disgust from Jay as the bathroom door slams amidst some scuffling and the two disappear for the next ten minutes or so.

Egg has completely regressed in the toilet training department and brilliantly enough this coincides with his first day of nursery school on Monday. Though I have to say he aced his 'home visit' on Friday with the school representatives. They are in for a wee surprise let's just say.

Egg was at his charismatic best and completely charmed the older of the ladies while I was at the dining table filling out form after form of mundane administrative details with the younger, slightly more stern of the two. Dumpie was giggling and cooing like the worlds cutest baby (which he is of course...even if i am biased) and everything was going swimmingly until i uttered the following question:

"Um...and what do you do if they have an accident in their pants?"

This stopped both women cold and there was silence as they looked at each other. The nicer older lady spoke.

"Well, it's rare that it happens but if it does there is an big closet of old clothes which we can put them in."

I nodded and shrugged as if it were indeed a stupid question, but I wasn't encouraged to hear that the children just take themselves to the toilet when and if they want. With no one badgering Egg into going every hour or so I shudder to think of the number of times I'm going to be picking him up at the gates with him clad in strange clothes and carrying a plastic bag full of his wet ones (sigh).

Anyway whilst all the attention this week has been on Egg and his impending school adventure, meanwhile little Noah has been developing in leaps and bounds. I got my first reality check yesterday while on the phone with a mortgage consultant. It was literally a two minute call and both boys were happily playing in the front room whilst i was in the kitchen next door.

I was keeping an ear open for any screams or big crashes but when i hung up the phone I heard something even more petrifying than either of those. Complete silence.

"Eggie?" I called. "Where are you?"

"Upstairs Mama" he replied.

I ran to the lounge. No Dumpie. Quick check behind the sofa's, under the dining table and by the electrical sockets. No sign of the chubby little chicken. I began to panic and couldn't bear to look down the stairs in case I discovered the mangled little body of an infant.

"Eggie," i faltered weakly, "do you know where Dumpie is?"

"He's up here Mama," he replied matter-of-factly.

I freaked out and ran upstairs. Sure enough, there they both were, up two flights of stairs playing happily in our bedroom, Johnson's Baby Powder enveloping the room in a toxic white film. Normally I would have screamed (oh sorry, I mean calmly admonished the little darlings and quietly cleaned up...yeah right) but this time I was too shocked trying to resign myself to the obvious but horrifying fact that I was a bad mother.

I asked Egg how Noah got there, knowing as i did so that there was no way my clumsy three year old could have carried a twenty-pound infant up two sets of stairs without mishap. Egg looked at me as if i were retarded and told me that Dumpie had just crawled up.

So there you have it. I confess it's happened four more times since then, though only the last time did Jay and i have the good fortune to catch him in the act. Sure enough, the little fella (spoon in hand) simply clambers up like a seasoned mountaineer in about a minute flat. Which would explain why we never catch him doing it. Oh. My. Goodness. As if I weren't stressed enough keeping an eye on him, now I have to worry about his climbing as well - forget the fact that he's mere days away from walking. URGHHHHH. And i'm horrified to confess that as of tonight he's also added descending into the repetoire as he now goes DOWN stairs as well...possibly even more harrowing.

It's Jay who called it, saying that Noah resembles nothing so much as a 'slinky' and I think that's pretty accurate. It defies logic but Dumps is elegantly smooth and predictable in his ascents and descents.

I wonder what Social Services would have to say about our 10 month old negotiating such minefields.

Then again, the fact that my infant is addicted to red 'Twizzler' licorice is possibly even more disturbing. That and the fact that he knows where my 'treat drawer' is and helps himself to sweets when he fancies a nibble. I feel like any day now I'll walk in on him smoking one of jay's old clove cigarettes and listening to my ipod...all the while flashing me his winning 100watt grin. Seriously.