The Awful Truth

I had just got in from work this evening when this happened.

N: Daddy, I didn’t like the kiss you gave me.

Me: Why?

N: Your mouth is awful

(Wait, it gets better)

Me: Oh

N: Your mouth smells terrible

At least having a child will help me to learn to laugh at myself.  Which, considering the guffaws I heard coming from S’s room is something I don’t think my wife needs any training in.

Lions in the Garden

Daaaaddddyyyyyy

DAAAAAAADDDDDYYYYYYY

The cry split the air.  The house shook with the ferocity of the yelling.  The little girl wanted something, she wanted it now, and what she wanted was me.  It’s always nice to feel wanted, although less so when the little girl with the big voice that wants you really should be asleep as she’s been in bed for a good twenty minutes or so. 

Roots of a smile

Root Canal.  Ugh.  Two terrible words.  Even apart they are not pretty, one is too round and the other jars with its sudden syllables but together they are enough to cause a grown man to cry (I think my major issue is that the long syllable followed by two short syllable construction of the words brings back memories of Greek poetry which is broken up into sections called ‘feet’ in which one long syllable followed by two short syllables are known as a ‘dactyl’ the Greek word for finger.  I hear ‘root canal’ but what I really hear is my Greek tutor standing at the front of the class getting us all to say ‘dum di di, dum di di, dum di di’ over and over again, like a class of demented Alice in Wonderland groupies).  This was the situation that faced me on Monday, no not Greek class, that feels like many years ago now, before children, no, the situation that I had been building myself up for all the previous week was having a root canal.  An hour long operation followed by a day’s worth of pain and misery, of course I dealt with it in my cheerful way, spending most of the weekend moaning and then spending the hours following the operation either asleep or grumbling about how it felt sore.  

Intruder Alert

Scene: Just sitting in the car waiting to go out on a Sunday afternoon

N: (Looking into the front window) there’s someone in our house.

Me: (Looking startled as we’d just locked up) Who?

N: Nora

Me: What’s she doing?

N: Getting our cheese.

I would like to make it clear that I don’t know a single person called Nora (although if I do I’m really sorry I’ve forgotten about you) N doesn’t know a single person called Nora and we have certainly never had a Nora who has come and got our cheese.  Just another adventure in the feverish imagination of my three year old little girl!

Drinks Please

Scene: The Bath – N playing with some little cups.

N: Daddy, what would you like to drink?

Me: Hot Chocolate please.

N: No no no, my shop doesn’t do hot chocolate.  What would you like to drink?

Me: What do you have?

N: Coffee, milk and salad.

Me: Coffee please.

N: Would you like Hot chocolate with that?

Me: Yes please.

N: Here it is, don’t sneeze.

Me: Are you putting pepper in it?

N: Yes.

Price of a Grin

It’s a little ironic, having a baby rather hampers one’s ability to write about having a baby.  So let me try to catch you up.

S is now 3 months. This means that he is unable to keep quiet, whether it is bellowing because he hasn’t been fed something for at least 5 minutes, or chatting away to himself whilst admiring his reflection in the mirror. I’ve told him that all this eating isn’t going to improve his figure and that at the rate he is going he won’t be able to get close enough to the mirror to admire anything.  So far he hasn’t listened to me, I suppose he’s starting as he means to go on.

Being 3 months also means he is beginning to giggle, which is great, for the one person in the house who can actually get him to make the magical noise.  S’s attraction to this person became evident very early on, he smiled and was generally very cheerful with them from an early age whilst the rest of us were merely gurned at until the little dictator had got what he wanted.  And this connection has only grown.