JUST when you think your toddler has already delivered her best shot re humiliating you in public, then she whips something even more devastating from her paint-spattered sleeve.

We’re currently enduring torture by refusal, a common period, apparently, in which your little person begins to assert some authority over their environment. So, she has started to kick up an almighty row when being dressed and undressed, or the like.

Last weekend, she spotted her armbands in a bag currently being packed, realised we were going swimming, started to undress and wanted to put on her swimsuit and swim nappy before we left the house.

This wasn’t workable, largely because swim nappies hold barely any water. Their purpose is more to protect against number two incidents in the pool.

But her father, and yes I am blaming him for how this turned out, allowed her to put on them on. We were then on an emergency countdown until it would leak.

She wouldn’t put any clothes on and, given that it was freezing outside, this wouldn’t do. I, the bad cop parent, insisted that clothes and a coat must be donned, but madam went absolutely ballistic.

We breathed deeply and, after some utter madness, implemented the naughty step, timing it and making sure I had explained and warned and given opportunities etc, being careful to make it consistent and efficient. She, with her will of iron, fought and fought and fought, writhing and banging her head and having hysterics all over the floor.

Her father took pity when my back was turned temporarily and she ended up being immediately cuddled on his knee – where she then promptly had a wee and the nappy leaked, soaking her, him, the floor and the rug.

When parted from the sodden garments, she took a temper tantrum to a new level and I left the room for a few minutes respite. Her father thought he’d solve things with a hug again and dressed her for the pool.

We got to the Aquadrome but things were far from solved. To sum up, she then refused to wear a new dry swimsuit, went crazy in the changing room, ripped off her suit and the nappy, rolled around in front of the main – communal – changing room door in the nude, screaming and flailing, before I removed her to a corner, attempting to cover her up.

After 20 minutes of her father and I sitting resignedly on the floor, saying nothing but holding up the outfit she had to put on, she finally gave in, two hours or so after it had all started.

We later sat in the Jacuzzi side by side like zombies, battle-scarred and broken.