Written by Daisy Leverington


Motherhood: Me through the beautiful grey eyes of my daughter

Motherhood hasn’t come naturally to Daisy Leverington. Three years in and she remains wide-eyed, terrified and in awe of the little person she’s responsible for. Stay tuned to follow her parenthood progress. This week she can’t do right for doing wrong.

eyesIn the beautiful grey eyes of my three-year-old, I’m an utter loser. I do everything wrong and generally make life hard for her.

Asking her to comply with the putting on of socks is inconvenient. She has no time for the brushing of hair, or the eating of food, or the goodbye kiss.

Her tolerance of me is remarkable, since my opinions and actions are neither sought nor wanted. She’s busy, got a lot on, a full diary of making up her own rules and making me apologise for not knowing them in advance. She is King Of Everything.

This morning, a normal morning on a normal week, I got the following things wrong:

1. The onesie she was wearing for bed was TOO WARM.

2. I got my own toilet roll before she measured out the correct amount on my behalf.

3. I ate my cereal too loudly, she couldn’t hear the TV.

4. It wasn’t her birthday.

5. She was not permitted to eat her nursery packed lunch at 7.30am.

6 . It will be me picking her up from nursery later, and not Grandma.

7. The weather was too cold.

8. She said she liked Horrid Henry. I said I did too. I was wrong.

9. Her balloon may fly away at some point.

10. My hair is longer than her hair.

This is by no means an exhaustive list, we argued about other stuff too.

Clearly this is a case which needs referring to a special squad of detectives who will find me entirely guilty of neglect and cruelty, especially as I didn’t allow her to set herself on fire while we were wrestling on the floor near the gas fire and she REALLY WANTED TO BE ON FIRE.

On the rare occasions I haven’t pro-actively done something to wind her up, she’ll often opt to strike up a conversation with the sole aim of starting an argument.

She might sidle over and say: ‘Mummy….do you like green dresses?’ and I’ll think ‘bless, what a sweetie coming for a chat’, and so I’ll agree that yes, I do like green dresses.

And then she’s got me.


I often avoid talking to her altogether. Either that or I’ll refer her to her dad, who she doesn’t seem to bait as much.

She once spent a the best part of a day angry with me for trying to plait her hair. She’d asked me to plait her hair.

Another time she was incandescent with rage after I sang along to the song ‘Hungry Eyes’ in the car. Apparently ‘eyes cannot be hungry because they don’t eat, and Mummy is very silly because eyes don’t have mouths’. (It’s hard to argue with someone too young to appreciate Patrick Swayze’s hips or the concept of metaphor, so I’ll let her have that one.)

Guess Who is now just a springboard for fights about whether Arnold is wearing lipstick, or whether Marie would wear a hat if it was cold outside, despite not wearing one in the actual game.

The recent discovery of board games now the child is old enough to understand taking turns has offered a whole new battleground.

Guess Who is now just a springboard for fights about whether Arnold is wearing lipstick, or whether Marie would wear a hat if it was cold outside, despite not wearing one in the actual game.

Jenga is fun until it falls over, when she looks at me like I’m the world’s worst architect. It’s not my fault if her chubby little fingers aren’t as adept as mine is it?

Connect 4 is meaningless. A foray into the complex world of toddler maths where counters can be placed anywhere and if mummy gets four in a row it’s reason enough kick the cat.

Just because I’m better than she is at EVERYTHING doesn’t mean she can kick off about it. Suck it up cupcake, I’m your mother.

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Written by Daisy Leverington

Daisy Leverington - Actor, mother, expert at winging it.