Father and daughter: there’ll be Friday night tears




Up until a few weeks ago, I would only hear those magic three words from my two-year-old daughter as a result of blatant manipulation. Delicious treat or remote control in hand, I’d ask her if she loved me and, of course, she was always keen to confirm that was true.

It’s shameful, I know, but she’d left me no choice.

Her older brother remains hugely affectionate and demonstrative. In the early years, if I ever feigned tears he’d be straight over to cuddle me and salve my fake upset. There, there, Dada.

Little Buddha had never fallen for that ruse. In fact, a few months ago, I hid my face behind my hands and pretended to cry and she just laughed at me. I tried once more a short while later and she passed her rotten tissue to the Duchess and calmly observed that ‘Daddy is sad’.

I think she meant the other meaning of the word.

Continue reading

Sibling rivalry, delayed bonding and growing up quickly

Dada and Little Buddha

I’VE GOT A CONFESSION. I’ve fallen for another. She loves me too. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.

If Boy Wonder could read this, he’d probably grudgingly accept my apology but remind me that ‘he came first’.

Sibling rivalry started earlier than I expected. He’s been waging psychological warfare on me since the day he arrived at the hospital a year ago to find me cradling his new sister. Interloper. Hijacker. Thief.

He loves her very much – and she adores him – but he hasn’t always liked to see me getting too close to her.

Continue reading