I was away with my son this weekend and my 4 year old daughter spent some quality time with her daddy.
And by quality time I mean she told him what to do, when to do it and how long he should do it for.
Hey, what do you mean she picked everything up from her mummy? . . .
Anyway, it’s all ‘mummy, mummy, mummy’ at the moment and while it is lovely to be so wanted and to be the centre of someone’s whole world, I do feel terribly sad for hubby who physically deflates when she refuses to let him do anything with her and demands me instead.
So they spent their 3 days swimming, and shopping, and buying new fish for our tank, having Sunday lunch together and generally bonding.
But when I came back oh boy did she want me to know how much she had missed me.
She clung on to me like her little life depended on it, chubby little fingers gripping into my back.
Then she pulls away and looks me square in the eyes and with the saddest face says; “You were so long mummy. I missed you. I MISSED you.”
Lovely. Warm. Feeling.
Then her 4-step attention seeking plan kicked into action.
1. The Wardrobe Change.
When I walked in the door she was ready for bed and wearing her pyjamas. 5 minutes later she comes down the stairs wearing her summer shorts, a t-shirt and a pair of princess socks which are 2 sizes too small for her.
There is also a slight whiff of glittery eyeshadow about her face.
The Change is so she can remind me how much fun we had when we all went away on holiday together.
Stab through the heart with a Guilt Memory.
2. You love me how much?
She keeps asking how much I love her. Every time I give an answer she says: “But I love you more than that.”
So I venture: “I love you so my arms stretch all the way around the world.”
Not to be outdone she responds with: “I love you all the way to the bottom of the ocean, into a whale’s stomach, and all the way back out again.”
I’m guessing that’s a lot.
3. Let me write the ways of love you.
Clearly, simply telling me how much she loves me isn’t enough.
She eventually goes to bed but insists she doesn’t want to wear her pyjama top, she wants to wear her dressing gown.
I know she’s up to something, but all I can think is fine fine, just go to bed already.
10 minutes later I’m regretting that ambivalence. She’s back down stairs with a sheepish look on her face.
“What have you done?”
She opens up her dressing gown to reveal a ‘tattoo’ of me she has drawn on her chest in coloured crayons.
The magic baby wipes which can shift spag bol sauce from the skirting boards has no effect on it.
Hubby and I are sitting having a cup of tea downstairs. It’s about 9.30pm.
There is a loud bang from upstairs and I rush up to see what has happened.
Mia has fallen out of bed and is sleeping on the floor with the duvet in a heap around her.
I pick her up with soothing words, she wraps her arms around me and I put her back in bed.
Poor little thing.
I come back downstairs and tell hubby what happened.
He tuts and rolls his eyes. “She’s just attention seeking,” he says.
Blimey, she is GOOD!