Motherhood hasn’t come naturally to Daisy Leverington. Five years in and she remains wide-eyed, terrified and in awe of the little person she’s responsible for. This week, she’s remembering potentially pivotal moments.
On the way home from school this week, a dickbag in a white Audi came so close to squashing my daughter and me into the central reservation that she now knows the meaning of, and can accurately use, the word ‘dickbag’.
My husband and I had previously joked about teaching her the best swearwords so she’d always be the coolest kid in the playground, but by gum, it’s jarring to hear an angelic five-year-old call your kitten a dickbag in front of visiting family members. However I explained it, I didn’t come out of it well.
It got me thinking about what else she’s picking up from my blasé, fast-and-loose attitude to censorship. She knows all about periods and the basics of where babies come from (That’s a whole other column, no pun intended). Only time will tell if any of this has a lasting and adverse effect, so I’ll do what I do best and jump to some hasty and entirely incorrect conclusions about the future based on recent events.
The time she used my Mooncup as a supersoaker
Mooncups are the perfect size for a child’s hand, and kinda squishy and fun to play with. I can’t blame her for thinking it was a toy.
If you create a decent seal with the palm of one hand, the other can release the valve and shoot water into the cat’s mouth at a force NASA would be impressed by. I predict the lasting effect of this will be that she becomes a urologist.
The time our mates made her swear at a wedding
After being chastised for bad language around the table, our friends proceeded to ask our tiny child if she knew any swearwords. She knows all of them, but thankfully only admitted to one. Phew!
I told her if she said it out loud I’d kill her with the fork I was holding, but, egged on by a table of drunk actors, our little lass loudly shouted, “SHIT!” and basked in the applause and laughter which followed. She will inevitably become a standup comedian.
The time the cat left a mouse’s face on her bedside table
Yeah, a face. Not the head or body or entrails or anything normal like that. The FACE. A cute little nose and whiskers and two beady eyes, staring at her as she slept.
“When she’s finally arrested for my murder after a six-week manhunt, oh how we’ll all laugh, and link to this column.”
It was there for TWO DAYS before she thought to raise the alarm. I predict that after this incident she will become pen friends with a serial killer on death row.
The time she faked her own kidnapping
Getting a protesting toddler across a busy road isn’t fun, but it is made significantly less fun when they shout, “Help!” swiftly followed by, “I want my Mummy!”
Old people will stare, phones will slowly be brought out of bags with no loss of eye contact. Your arse crack will start to sweat. You’ll find yourself doing the Mum laugh – the ‘Oh, isn’t she just ADORABLE?’ laugh which spells doom for the child once it gets back home.
I’m sure only snippets, if anything, of these incidents will remain in her mind in a few years. But they are seared into mine forever. When she hits her teens and starts to hate me, I’ll attribute it to something in her formative years which I could easily have prevented.
When she’s finally arrested for my murder after a six-week manhunt, oh how we’ll all laugh, and link to this column. The timeline of her murders might well be traced back to the dickbag in the Audi, but I’m happy to own up to my own contributions along the way.
Sweetheart, if you’re grown up and reading this and need an alibi, call your dad. Ta.
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Daisy Leverington - Actor, mother, expert at winging it.