Increasingly we are becoming aware that we're living on borrowed time with Finley still sleeping in his baby cot. He's fast approaching the two and a half years old mark now and every noise, every creak we hear from upstairs whilst trying to eat our dinner, we convince ourselves that he's finally done it. He's finally figured out how to throw himself over the side and make a break for freedom. Any second he'll come bumping down the stairs on his 'bum-bum' asking for a biscuit or a drink or a story and that will be it. Game over. No more cot prison. The enjoyment of our evenings will be subject to his free will and our ability (or lack of) to discipline him. Luckily for us its not happened yet, but now I've put that in writing it probably will tonight of course...
