Imperial

It’s halfway through the Easter break and I haven’t killed the kids yet.

That’s a successful school holiday in my book. Well, so far.

Today we visited baby Scarlett, a rosy-cheeked bundle of cute, who is missing the same tiny part of a chromosome as my daughter.

We’d met for the first time last year, and had a girls’ lunch, when Scarlett still had that wobbly, floppy-limbed, Prader-Willi Syndrome baby muscle tone.

Today, just a couple of weeks before her birthday, the little charmer was sitting up with a straight back, holding her head up, and clapping proudly. She’s got a lot to be proud of.

My daughter transformed herself into Prader-Willi Guest Expert to offer Scarlett’s mum advice on what constitutes healthy snacks and which TV programmes are babyish or not.

And my boy even managed to play nicely with Scarlett’s sisters without breaking into his current favourite song: a never-ending 100 decibel rendition of Darth Vader's Imperial March from Star Wars, each note sounded out as the word ‘bum’.

It was a good day. 

Damn. 

I had to mention it, didn't I?

Bum bum bum bum-bum bum bum-bum bum.

Music is "The Imperial March" - Darth Vader's theme from Star Wars