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My daughter is very much in Team Mummy still. Luckily the thick skin I have developed as a comedian means I can more or less endure the constant barrage of her wishing I was the other parent. Or at least it means that however hard the heckle, it can never be as painful as being shunned by a tiny human being who shares a mash up of my face and the face I most like looking at.
It’s particularly hard when it’s first thing in the morning on the day after a gig and it’s more than my turn to get up early. And all I get is a tantrum from a toddler who wants the other parent. C’mon girl, do you see this grey hair and these wrinkles and the bags under my eyes. I did all this for you.
I can only console myself with the fact that one day Phoebe will be a teenager and thus resent her mum and I will be the best parent by default, even if, as she does already, she has total disdain for my weak-assed devotion to her. I will still be the best parent, even if, as a unit, we will be the worst people on earth.
But I seem to remember I was the same. I was always crying and saying “I want my mummy” and getting into a tizzy when she wasn’t there immediately. Do you know how old I was when these events were happening? I think the answer will surprise you. I was 28 years old. Weird that I was behaving so childishly, right? And not funny. It suggests a serious mental imbalance.
I don’t recall if I shunned my dad in the same way as Phoebe (occasionally) does me and until now have never given a second’s thought to how he might have felt about that. I won’t waste too much time thinking about it now either, because I am too upset that it is happening to me.
I am pretty sure it’s just a blip and that we’re about to enter a golden age where she realises how funny I am and more importantly what a pushover I am and we spend our times making funny faces and being silly. And to be fair, there’s a fair amount of that right now. But there is just nothing as cold and unfeeling as the rejection of a child. I was right. There are incapable of love. They’re bastards. Many of them literally. Judging by the nose, not my one though.
The worst bit is that I am pretty sure that she does half of it because she knows it’s funny to take the piss out of me. That’s also the best bit too though. There’s a twinkle in the eye and she thinks we’re doing a bit.
We got the day together today, at least, as it was my mother-in-law’s birthday and we went for a late lunch in Camden and then went to the park to play on the slides and the swings. The girl is brave and wilful and confident she can do nearly everything without help, even when she can’t. We put her on the big slide and also on a corkscrew one and there was no fear. She wanted me to follow her down one of them and I was a bit nervous, mainly because I thought I’d get stuck. But luckily I was fine.
By bedtime we were all tired and I was doing the honours (having missed so many mornings and evenings to tour dates) but Phoebe wanted her mum again. And this time there was no doubt that she was doing a bit. Oh I’m not allowed to have a favourite kid, but you’ve got a favourite parent? And yes I know you’re my only kid (that I know of) but I can prefer someone else’s kid can’t I? But I don’t. The others are all idiots. Ah well. Just know older Phoebe who is reading this in a space port on Mars - sorry about us fucking up planet earth, and also you made my heart explode with joy and then crushed it up into super concentrated matter, and then made it explode again, like a ten times daily Big Bang experience. And I loved it all. Remember the time you actually preferred your mum? What was that all about?
