To Mommy or Not to Mommy

I  was awoken this morning by a baby crawling over my face, trying to reach the iPhone lying on my side table. A fat belly and the side of a butt cheek on their face is probably not the ideal alarm for most people, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

These days, I’m ‘papa’, regardless of the number of times I have tried to convince her that I am ‘mama’. She is adamant that I am to be called ‘papa’, and when she screams ‘papa’, I must come to her side immediately. This little confusion is my husband’s doing, as he’s been teaching her that both him and I are called ‘Papa’, so that she would use the word more frequently. Funnily, she’s been calling him ‘dada’, so I guess no one wins. Unless, in her head ‘papa’ and ‘dada’ mean ‘you, my  servant who serves me food and beverages’ and ‘you, my servant who entertains me’, in which case she wins.

Last week, we tried to contain her by placing her in her cot with a few toys, as we got ready for work. We left her standing in the cot, holding the railing and dancing from side to side – typical baby stuff. Shortly after, my husband heard a loud crash and rushed into the room to find her little arm sticking out between the railings of the cot, fully extended, trying to grab things off my side table. The illusive iPhone which had been sitting on the table was now lying on the floor. My husband was met with a guilty look, a speedy retraction of the arm and an instant diversion of attention to the nearest toy – no idea who threw that phone.

The iPhone is a favourite, followed closely by the kitchen drain. It is imperative that if she is in the living room, she must speed crawl into the open kitchen, remove the cover of the drain on the floor and stick her fingers in. She is always promptly removed from the kitchen before she reaches the drain, but within 30 seconds, she’s back, giving me a cheeky smile followed by a ‘will-you-really-leave-your-cooking-again-to-carry-me-to-my-playmat’ look.

Yes sweetheart, I will. Every single time. Even if my back is breaking at the end of each day and I don’t remember the last time I got eight of hours of sleep at night. Even if I haven’t had a bite to eat all day and every cup of tea I drink is cold. Even if the last time I showered was three days ago and I’ve forgotten what it feels like to go to the cinema. I will. Every single time.