Child Protégé, Indeed.

(Crossposted from SA Parent Life)

So, there you were, all newborn and fresh and cute and your dad and I were swallowed up by new baby love.

Then, after six weeks of “continual awake/asleep/feed me/change me/and that’s all I do – isn’t that easy?” phasing… the worst thing happened.

All of a sudden, you were AWAKE. AWAKE and staring at me. Goading me to “go on, now entertain me”.

So, we did. We bought the bloody expensive Baby Einstein. Convinced ourselves we were, as a result, nurturing your hidden talents and growing ourselves a true blue child protégé. We just KNEW we were the BEST parents ever.

Of course, that was the exact moment you started to totally ignore the television.

So, back to the world’s largest baby superstore we went. And invested small African countries’ GDPs in “educational toys”, utterly enamoured by the idea that WE were doing the BEST for our little pumpkin. SHE was going to grow up and CHANGE the world.

And we brought them home, showed them to you, and you gave them exactly thirteen seconds’ attention before throwing them back at me.

And turned your attention back to the television.

So, we kept on going. Trying everything. Reading. Reading to you and with you was a HUGE priority in our lives because someone (and approximately fifteen child-rearing books) said…

“You know, children who read from a young age really learn to talk faster?”

And there we were, talking to you and reading up a storm. CONVINCED that we were STILL growing a child protégé. I even went as far as saying:

“Well, my daughter is already mouthing words and making word-sounding babbles. She’s SO clever”

Why did nobody stop me and say something like “Oh, you’re going to regret this one…”

And then, you were walking and talking. You said “mama” one Thursday night and I just held you and cried and laughed and smiled.

I WAS SO PROUD.

Until, of course, the day came. Anyone who is a parent knows this. The day comes where you begin to regret being so eager for your child to speak and talk and communicate.

And yes, folks, that day was a Tuesday morning.

You’d been sick, poor thing. There’d been mess and vomit and pooh.

So, I cleaned us both up, started the mammoth laundry task. Tried to pry my fatigued eyes open to remember how to turn the machine on.

Both of us so tired and grubby.

And there I was, standing beside the machine. And you called me that name I know and love so well now.

“Mama?”

So, I turned and looked at you, my poor little sick child.

“Yes, Cameron?”

And you looked back at me, with your innocent eyes, all your precious teeth grinning at me.

And then you said, “F*ck.”
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“Children are natural mimics who act like their parents despite every effort to teach them good manners.” ~Author Unknown