Something bad has happened, something that mirrors a scarily similar incident of many years ago.
Despite his array of cold-related ailments, Jamie has come on more in the last few days than at any stage since he was born. He's developing a series of new expressions, new sounds and new habits - one of which is of pulling your (well, my) hair. And his accelerated physical advancement has meant that, when he gets a hold, he's very hard to prise off.
The Whites went to Grandad Geoff's for tea tonight, together with Auntie Hannah, Cousin Oliver (above right) and Uncle Dave (boo!) It was a very pleasant evening but there was one incident that will unfortunately live long in the memory.
The grown-ups were in one room having a drink and watching Oliver and Jamie next door through a window. In the Night Garden was on the TV, making the junior guests more than happy as they sat side-by-side on the living room rug. And then it happened.
Jamie reached across, grabbed two handfuls of Cousin Oliver's hair and refused to let go. Mortified, I ran into the room and, after a few seconds, managed to disconnect him - leaving Oliver in hysterics and with two tufts of hair sticking up like Brian the Snail's feelers in The Magic Roundabout.
Immediately I thought of the incident - which my parents steadfastly refuse to let me forget- when I was very young and did exactly the same thing to a little girl by the name of McIntyre who was visiting us with her parents. (In my defence, she was sharing my playpen, I hadn't invited her in so she had it coming).
I feel bad every time I hear the tale (sort of - as I say, she wasn't my responsibility and they were my toys) and I'm feeling bad again tonight, both for her and for Cousin Oliver.
How many more of my less than endearing habits will our little boy inherit or how many regrettable incidents from my past will he attempt to recreate?
Time will inevitably tell.
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