Friday, 18 June 2010

mummies and papas.

'So, when I grow up I'll have babies and I'll be the mummy and you'll sit in the corner,' says X.
'Yes!' I agree wholeheartedly. The idea of sitting in the corner watching her be the mummy sounds rather pleasant, given that it's friday night, the kitchen is sprayed with chocolate cake mixture and there's still hairwashing to get through.
'And there'll be a Daddy- the Daddy of your children' I say, encouragingly. As we've no Daddy in our little family, I try and encourage the idea that they're a good idea, in general.
'Yes, a Daddy- like 'Pa-pa,' says X, nodding hard.
It's confusing. Her best friend is French and her daddy is papa. But I call my father Pa, which she turned into Pa-pa.
'Um, not exactly,' I say, trying not to envision my eighty year old father breeding children with my daughter.

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