He "needs an X Box" (Stepmom). He "needed the biggest room because he has the most toys". Shit me, I just turned 30 and I forgot My Little Pony. Quick, gimme the broom cupboard to sleep in. The child suffered repeat irrational toddler tantrums, usually in view of a baying mob of Portugeezers. Staring at my knees suddenly became very interesting during this time and I learnt a surprising amount about Iberian pavement tesselation as my father tried to drag a screaming ball of flesh to the nearest donkey and cart. Yeesh.
Anyway, we all began to feel a bit more comfortable with each other as the days progressed. It's amazing how much you can bond while scraping what was once part of a cow into a crusty artisan bap. And that was just breakfast. I also learnt how important the art of distraction is when it comes to child-rearing. "Look at the man on that nose!" can quell the nastiest tantrum threatening to shatter the tranquility of the hypermarket's hallowed aisles.
By day 9 I almost felt a like a real grown up big seesta and even a little sad that I would no longer feel a tiny hand trying to push me into the Rio Grande on the daily. Back to frequent doses of good British food (Nandos) and the sun peeping shyly - or lurking like a pervert - behind the grey Bristol clouds. But with a newfound love for my little