Of course, we allowed the shell-shocked children to keep the cake, and they rushed away. Meanwhile, my wife tried to calm Harry down – but it was too late. He threw himself on the floor and started screaming and kicking his limbs angrily, clearly enraged by the ‘unfairness’ of being made to share.
I felt mortified and furious. I strode over, grabbed both of his little flailing arms and began to lead him towards the toilet. My wife started to speak in Harry’s defence, clearly realising from my demeanour that I intended to him, but I cut her off short: “No, Polly – I don’t care what day it is, he’s already been warned. The way he has been behaving is absolutely unacceptable.” I tightened my grip on Harry’s upper arms and dragged him, still screaming, towards the toilets.
Making sure to select an individual baby changing room for privacy, I firmly pushed Harry through the door and locked it behind us. I placed him on the padded nappy changing table and waited until his tantrum died down. Eventually he tired himself out, stopped kicking and screaming and just lay there for a few minutes, crying quietly.