Mum’s talk... by Sarah Reid
There are some things you don’t miss until they’re gone, as they say.
When my two-year-old was babbling away happily to herself recently, I was only half listening. Her ramblings can be just that – rambling – and so I don’t tend to contribute much to the chat unless I’m specifi cally expected to.
But this day I pricked up my ears. She rounded off this little monologue with a vague question: “Okay Mum?” Now I have no idea what it was I was being asked to approve, it was the word “Mum” that got me.
After only two years, my lovely baby has decided I’m Mummy no longer.
“Mum”
sounded so grown-up and independent I was left wondering forlornly how this had happened.
even when her shoes were on the wrong feet and her jacket was upside down with the hood dragging along the fl oor.
From there it just got worse. Not content with putting her own shoes on the wrong feet, she was determined to shuffl e around the house in my shoes or borrow my glasses to sit earnestly in front of the TV. This was a little girl who wanted to become a big girl, and fast.
Daddy is now Dad, of course. And in another disconcerting development, we’re told “Well done guys!” when we do something that meets with her approval. I’m just waiting for the tut and a shake of the little head when we get things wrong, surely that’s just round the corner.
But the other day, it was almost as if she’d sensed my distress at her sudden maturity. Mid-way through some yoghurt, she held her spoon out to me. “Me need some help…”
Suddenly I felt all was perhaps not quite lost. I could still be useful, important, adored. Vital, even! She was still my baby really.
“Me need some help… Mum.”
You can follow Sarah on Twitter @sarahereid7
I think it started with her shoes and jacket. She was outraged if anyone off ered help, insisting on doing it herself and refusing assistance
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I can do it myself MUM!
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