There is a group of us that meets once or twice a week for lunch. It sounds nice and relaxing but I spend most of the time wrestling Flynn off the table, prising things out of his hands, playing horsey and generally entertaining/restraining him so that he doesn't kill himself or break anything.
Heading out to lunch in the taxi
When my food arrives I feed him too and he's usually happy enough as long as the food keeps coming. Once he's eaten, the highchair novelty wears off and he wants to be leaping onto the table again. At this cafe he was happiest standing on the table slapping a pillar.
Flynn's intelligent look
Flynn takes dental hygiene seriously
Carrie, my American friend
Charlotte, my Swedish friend
There were five mums, five babies, five prams and one grandmother present. I think the cafe staff were most relieved when we left.
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