Mummy gets the last word

“I hear he’s saying ‘daddy’ now,” the aunties gushed at Learner Dad, who nodded proudly.
I tried not to roll my eyes.
I warned you, didn’t I?
I warned him.
Right here, in this blog.
I said it was simply the sound babies make first, the same sound Master Seven first blurted out even though, back then, he had no ‘da-da’ to speak of.
Learner Dad heard it, read it, acknowledged it.
But now that Li’l Fatty’s saying it, he doesn’t care.
“Don’t you think it’s funny that you’re the only one he ‘talks’ to?” I asked, after he proudly posted a video of Li’l Fatty saying ‘da-da’ on Facebook.
“Nope, he just loves me the most,” he declared happily.
“But I’m the one who’s with him all the time,” I countered.
“Yes and he obviously spends all that time with you talking about me,” he said.
Whatever.
For a while it was almost unbearable.
“Yes, yes, daddy’s here,” he’d say as Li’l Fatty muttered tired ‘da-da’s’ over dinner.
Or “I’m coming little man” he’d yell out, on hearing Li’l Fatty booming out ‘da-da-da-da-da’ from the bath.
But then I began to embrace it.
“Honey, he’s done a poo, right up his back, and seems to want ‘da-da’ to fix it,” I’d interrupt him, as he chatted on the phone to a work mate.
Or “He won’t go to sleep, wants ‘da-da’ apparently,” I’d say, flopping back down in front of the TV while he reluctantly got up to settle his son.
Li’l Fatty doesn’t look even slightly close to saying ‘mum-mum’.
In fact, the way his grandfather’s going, ‘pop-pop’ might just get a run before me too.
But you know what? It’s ok.
Because I can guarantee that once he does work out how to call me, he’ll be racking up ‘I want Mummy’s’ faster than you can say: “Go ‘way Daddy, don’t want you.”
Then we’ll see who’s boss.

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