Rowan Morrison has reached the stage that all parents of toddlers dread, the ‘terrible twos’, but she has a secret weapon up her sleeve… dancing!

Like most of the nation, our household has become utterly gripped by Strictly Come Dancing. Amazingly, even M has caught the glitter-ball bug. Drama, emotion, humour, serious sparkle, gorgeous dresses, and old-fashioned light entertainment – with the focus on the light. Methinks ‘tis the perfect antidote to cold, grey days and any seasonal misgivings. My two favourite things at the moment are Strictly and my new furry slipper socks. Wrapped in fleecy pink PJs in front of the TV, hot toddy in hand, toasty feet propped on a pillow, and I’m officially blissed out.

And talking of M getting sucked in to it all, he’s only gone and booked us tickets for a Strictly-themed dancing night. It’s so out of character, I keep looking at him out of the corner of my eye to check he’s not started wearing moisturiser or something. I think it’s maybe nostalgic fondness for Bruce Forsyth that’s doing it. Or Rachel Stevens. I wouldn’t blame him – I’ve developed a bit of a girl crush on the Stevens myself.

Anyway, quick-stepping swiftly on, yes M has booked us in for a night of ballroom dancing. Apparently it’s like a ceilidh, in that there is a live band and dance teachers take you through the steps before you’re let loose on the floor. I am obviously rather excited. And it was an excuse to get a new frock. I’m giggling as I type this because the dress I’ve bought is so brilliant, a bubble of joy builds and bursts in my head every time I think about it. I had a slight hiccup in trying to economise when I bought a vintage dress on ebay, but let’s not linger on that. Needless to say too-small purple taffeta ‘aint my bag. No, I’ll be jiving myself into a frenzy in a short black shift dress covered in tassles. Tassles! All over it! It’s a shimmy dress and no mistake. I’m wearing it with wet-look tights and a satin bejewelled headband. I look like a flapper. I’m so happy. I tried the whole outfit on last night and O shouted ‘DANCE!’ at me, so I think it’s hitting all the right notes.

O is also a fan of Strictly, so M and I decided we’d take him along to a dance class for toddlers at the weekend. It was interesting. You might remember I attended such a class when O was younger and didn’t get on very well? Then you probably won’t be surprised to learn nothing much has changed in this regard. The class itself was great – the young teacher was full of energy and imagination, and the 30-ish kids there were really getting into it. All of them, that is, except for O. It was the type of class where parents join in, so M and I were soon jumping around with gusto making idiots of ourselves. O, on the other hand, perhaps mortified by our lack of rhythm, decided to lie face down in the middle of the room and kick the floor.

We are at the start, of course, of the ‘terrible twos’, and DUN-DUN-DUN, it is now that the real parenting begins. On the admittedly rare occasions when things like this happen, I first of all think ‘right, he’s only small, so we should allow him to express himself, which quickly moves on to ‘someone is going to trip over him, he’s not getting anything out of this, and actually it’s a bit embarrassing’. So I try to pick him up and get him involved. Which results in his having a major meltdown and my getting flustered and hot, on the verge of tears, and wanting to lie down on the floor beside him. The thing about toddlers is that they have the willpower, and often the strength, of a small bull. After half-an-hour of wrestling with me, O decided to dance. But he didn’t pretend to be a firework like the rest of the kids, he ran in intimidating concentric circles around another little boy and then stood and moshed to music in his head for 10 minutes. Joy. I like to think O’s cheeky and rebellious streak shows how creative and smart he is. Either that, or I see the face of Supernanny spinning above my head before I fall asleep at night.

But no matter how little he seemed to enjoy the class at the time, he’s definitely got something out of it. He’s now particularly fond of doing the dance at the end of In the Night Garden when all the characters stand on the gazebo. It’s adorable. He does all the different moves and M and I join in.

It’s become such a routine that we’re not even aware we’re doing it half the time. The other night, M had forgotten to pick up cat food and I was having a good old nark at him for “always forgetting things”, all the while laying down some serious Makka Pakka moves. Man.