Every night when I say goodnight to my boys, I always leave their room with an ‘I love you!’. In response to this my youngest will mumble sleepily ‘You’re the best mummy in the world’ and my eldest will give me a cheeky ‘Love you more!’.

Those few words mean so much to me – more than they’ll ever realise – and I end the day on a good note, knowing that they’re both safely tucked up, feeling loved and happy with life.

Recently though my almost-7-year-old has become increasingly angry and grumpy. Maybe it’s down to a growth spurt, maybe it’s down to hormones, maybe it’s down to having to go through school SATs, but something is amiss. I remember him going through a stage like this when he was 5 but I wasn’t expecting to go through another one until he hit the dreaded teenage years. Apparantly I was wrong.

In the morning, rather than bouncing out of bed with a smile on his face as per usual, he turns into Mr Miserable. Having woken up at 6.45am on the dot for as long as I can remember, he is now sleeping in. Waking him up for school is a challenge and he stomps down the stairs in a huff with a face like thunder. Once downstairs, if he finds his little brother playing with any of his toys – his fidget spinner is a bone of contention at the moment – there will be tears and frustration. And this is how our day starts.

Then there’s breakfast: ‘I didn’t want shreddies!’ he’ll shout like an angry dictator when I pour them into his bowl. ‘I hate jam!’ he’ll announce (having had it on his toast for the past seven years). ‘Want yoghurt!‘ he’ll demand.  He is shouting orders at everyone from dawn til dusk. When I stand my ground, it ends up with him stomping back up the stairs and back into his bed. I just can’t win. Dressing him for school and brushing his teeth brings more aggro and often ends up with pyjamas and toothpaste being thrown in my face as I wrestle with him to do these simple tasks.

After school, when my eldest is exhausted and even more difficult to deal with, we have mealtime tantrums and meltdowns. Then, when it’s bathtime, he will sneak out of the house and into the garden with my littlest trailing behind him in fits of giggles (his older brother can do no wrong in his eyes). I end up having to chase after them as they race off at full pelt. And attempting to catch an all-kicking, all-screaming 6-year-old who is now quite heavy is a hellish experience…

Once I get one boy back in the house and go to get the other, the one who’s inside inevitably finds another escape route. This scenario continues until I’m fuming with anger and about to burst. Being cross though, as I’ve learnt, does me no favours because my sons just find it hilarious seeing Mummy lose the plot. It’s far more effective to keep my cool.

When I finally get them in the bath – sometimes having to force my eldest in and getting soaked in the process – they then enter silly mode. This carries on until it’s time for bed and includes running around naked whilst neighing like horses, jumping on my bed (because they know it annoys me), putting music on full blast, raiding the cupboards for biscuits and simply refusing to listen to anything I say.

Trying to get my eldest to bed when he’s so hyped up always ends with more tears. Then, once I achieve my goal, he’ll say things like ‘I’m hungry!’ (even though he’s just tucked into the biscuit tin) or ‘I want to look at my Guinness World Records book’ (even though he refused to read half an hour ago when I asked him).

Finally, my eldest will yawn and settle down to sleep and I will close the door behind me, breathe a sigh of relief and say ‘I love you!’. At the moment he is responding with ‘I hate you more!’ but I’m hoping that when he goes back to being his awesome, happy self, he will return to ‘I love you more!’. I just hope it’s not too long before he does.

Having a stroppy nearly-7-year-old is no fun but it’s all part of growing up as he gets to grips with his changing body and confusing feelings. I totally get that. And I totally understand that what my son needs right now is cuddles if he’ll let me and time alone when he wants it.

What I can’t get my head around though is that the teenage years are apparantly a lot worse. Luckily for me though that’s a long way off…