Conversations With My Daughter #6

October 2010

I have to keep doors closed. We have a stairgate and a kitchengate. I tread on Lego bricks in bare feet, and there are abstract felt-tip pen scribblings on the sofas, the wall, and carpet. I am a poor substitute for Mummy, and am told so on a regular basis. When driving, I must not vent any roadrage lest I be serenaded from the back seat with a high-pitched copycat of me: “Moron!… You can’t fit in there!!… No really, there’s no need to say thank you for me letting you through!… OI!… You utter TWAT!!”

Alice is now a toddler.

Sample dialogue:
“DaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddyDAAAA-DEEEEEEshutup”

“Book! Book! COME ON! Book! NOW!”

[To people in the street]
“Hiya! Hiya! Hiya! Hiya! Bye-bye! Seeya!”

[With brick trolly-thing]
“NEERRRRRRRRR NAAAARRRRRRRR AAARRRRRGGGGH” [Almighty crashing noise] “Fall down! AHAHAHAHAHA!!”

At 2am:
“AAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAAAH! MUMMY!!! DAAAAADDY!!!!”
[Sarah and I both come rushing in, panicking, bleary-eyed, and barely awake, to find her giggling her face off at the chaos she has caused]

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