Last weekend, LittleBear ate a (very small) slice of roast chicken.
This week, LittleBear complained that his swimming lesson wasn't as much fun as usual because there wasn't enough jumping in. That's right, The Boy Who Wouldn't Jump now complains if there isn't enough jumping in.
And, just to prove it, here's my boy swimming 5 metres, unaided, in his own unique variation on the butter-breast-fly-crawl-paddle-stroke.
The upshot of undertaking this Herculean task several times yesterday, is that LittleBear is utterly, catastrophically, inconsolably, enragingly, frustratingly tired today. But other than that, he's happy. And he loves swimming. Who'd've thought it?