'If kids had an on-off switch, I'd be using it'.

Byline: Rachel Mainwaring

I'M trying to write this column while child number two is having his lunchtime nap.

Except, since child number two turned two, I think he thinks life is far too short to be wasting it up in his cot in the middle of the day.

So he's found some novel ways of letting mummy know, that, unlike mummy, he isn't tired and he's certainly not contemplating going to sleep.

At the moment, he is singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star at the top of his voice and thinks it's hilarious that he's ending each line with a raspberry noise.

When that fails to get me back upstairs, he'll start shouting, "Mummy, poo" only to grin from ear to ear at the victory when mummy walks in to change him... to find he hasn't poo'd at all.

After getting me upstairs, he'll then try to point downstairs with a cute look on his face, with big wanton eyes pleading to go back down to play and I'll give in, right? Wrong. While I'm relieved to be through the waking up at night faze (I can just about cope with the early mornings) I'm certainly not ready to let him go all day without a sleep. One, because I need the breather after lunch and two, he'll be completely exhausted by half five and then think it's hilarious to throw himself round the room, piling on his sister, emptying the Lego box on his head and generally being up to mischief.

So, despite the plea for more play, I will determinedly put him back, say 'Have a nice sleep, be a good boy and see you in a while.' He'll stay quiet for a couple of minutes, lulling me into a false sense of relaxation before making the most almighty crashing noises in his cot. On peeping through the door, I will see he spent those quiet minutes gently opening his curtains before reaching for his money box (which is full of all the 1p coins his sister wasn't interested in) and throwing it on the wooden floor with a bang.

Despite the mess, and resisting that initial urge to clean it all up straight away, I'll ignore the giggles (somehow, I think he's sussed I'm loitering outside his room) and creep downstairs, always hopeful that the busy morning (which this morning involved lots of socialising with his mates and crashing about in plastic cars) will soon catch up with him.

Who am I trying to kid? Fifteen minutes into it and we've now reached stage two of 'Operation No Nap' and by the noise coming through the kitchen ceiling (no wonder the bulbs go so quickly in there) I know exactly what he's doing. He's racing (as much as you can in a cot) back and forth from one end to the other, shouting 'Ready, steady, go'.

And once we've reached this stage, I'm afraid there's just no going back. Not for me anyway. This is the moment when, no matter how determined and strong-willed I am, I know I've failed in my quest for a bit of time out.

If kids had an on/off switch, I'd certainly be using it right now.

Instead I'll give him another 10 minutes so I can wolf down my sandwich, before getting him back up to start the fun all over again. Except perhaps I won't make it quite as fun this afternoon, I think boring him into submission might just be the ammunition I need!