If Only You Knew
My Darling Jude,
If only you knew.
If only you knew, as you scream blue murder at my retraction of your spoon, that I am merely going back to get you some more yoghurt.
If only you knew, as you crumble to the floor in pure RAGE at the harness and reins you’ve discovered attached to your chest, that I am merely trying to stop you getting squished by a lorry. I wouldn’t like for you to get squished, you see.
If only you knew, as you twist your body into an impossible yoga pose, that I don’t get much enjoyment from our daily nappy wrestle either. It is not me versus you. It is the two of us versus the massive turd you have deposited, for the second time in half an hour. The same goes for your hatred of wearing clothes and disgust at being forced into a sleeveless sleeping bag before bed - these are processes we follow to stop you from freezing.
If only you knew, as you pull on your ears and rub your eyes, that it is not entirely my fault that you are tired. I gave you two opportunities to nap earlier in the day and you chose 5:15PM to start snoozing, which is a Code Red Terrible Nap Time. One day, perhaps when you are a daddy, you will realise that opportunities to nap are golden, and discover that you would in fact sell a kidney and/or the telly to have a nap (by this point it will be too late.)
If only you knew, as you throw your upper body backwards against my collarbone and I shout ‘OWWWW YOU BASTARD!’ it is, in fact, not you that I am calling a bastard. It’s just a bastard situation – I live in hope that you will sit nicely on my lap for a book and a snuggle but it turns out you’re not really into books or snuggles right now.
If only you knew, as you look up from trying to eat your brother’s shoelace, that I’m only about to confiscate the shoe because it might have dog faeces on it from our park trip. I’m not a deliberately setting out to ruin your fun and steal all your treasure.
You are a rather strange being, my little pudding head, but I love the bones of you. I love your laugh and the way you indiscriminately use ‘baaaaa’ as the sound for all farmyard animals. I love your crazy hair and the fact that you always smell of Cow & Gate Spaghetti Bolognese, even when you’ve had a wash.
When you are cross with me I am usually just trying to do my job as a mummy and look after you.
If only you knew.