Mummy loves you and you (part 2)

15 December 2020 | 2 years 4 months

Lochie loves childcare.

Where are you going, Lochie? “Toiletcare.” You mean child, not toilet, childcare. “No. Toiletcare!”

Can’t make this up.

On the topic of deep contemplation, surely he also still needs closure after yesterday’s confrontation. Last night at bath time he refused to share his trucks with Jono. I scolded him. His puppy dog eyes swelled with tears. It was never about the trucks.

It’s not about the trucks, is it, Lochie? It’s about mummy. You think Jono took mummy away from you, is that right? But guess what? Mummy belongs to Jono and mummy belongs to Lochie.

When I usually pick him up from toiletcare, he takes a moment to recognise me from afar, and then his mouth widens into a cheshire cat grin, revealing 12 toothypegs, as he runs over to show me his latest cars.

Today, though, he stared at me from a distance for a long time before smiling cautiously. He was strangely cautious in holding my hand as we walked toward the car – he did not run away, muck around, or ask to be carried. He was moody at home, as if deep in thought, and insisted on eating his dinner while playing with cars instead of engaging with me at his table. As he ate, his mood lifted, and he started to open up. He asked me to help him to assemble the wheels on a car with a toy screwdriver. Jono was occupied by Cassie, so does that mean mummy is exclusively Lochie’s?

We were on the right path until I was distracted by SMS dramas, and I didn’t respond fast enough to Lochie’s requests to screw in the bumper panel. He is pretty polite and able to play independently. He was imaginative and self-sufficient in play from infancy. But this ability makes it easy to switch off around him and disengage. So I responded to a few texts and washed up after dinner. And by the time I returned to Lochie, he had moved on to other toys. Do you want mummy to assemble the wheels, Lochie? I tried. “No,” he said not looking up. Ouch.

An hour later, I had put Jono to bed and came in for Lochie’s bedtime cuddles. This is our dedicated time, a time when we read books, play, sing, make up songs and stories, cuddle, puppet play-talk, and dream of tomorrow. Ideally we part amicably at a good hour.

Tonight we explored alphabet animals. Lochie officially knows his quetzal from his xenops, impala from vicuña, uakari from baboon. We consumed the names of reptiles from A to Z, the same for vehicles and then for forest dwellers. We found a raccoon, with its giant eyes and stripey tail, on a page where we did not expect it. Since learning about the raccoon, with its delicious-sounding name, Lochie has been discovering it everywhere – among his toys (what are the chances?), in books, on world maps. We looked at the world map hanging over his cot, and named some countries. But he was still hungry. “No bed, yes mummy cuddles.” We learned named of reptiles, vehicles and even forest dwellers from A to Z. But he was still hungry.

After the lights went off, Lochie wanted to sing “wheels on the bus.” These wheels, they weren’t just on the bus, though. They were on fire trucks, dump trucks and crane trucks. And they all went round and round, all around the bloody town. I’m hungry and I’m losing my voice. Lochie, let’s just sit in silence.

Finally, after hours of smalltalk, Lochie quietened and got to the heart of what I imagine was stewing in his sophisticated toddler brain. Instead of sitting on my lap as he usually does, being two-thirds of my height, Lochie lay across my lap and curled up his feet, burying his body into mine as he has seen Jono do. “Lochie mummy’s baby?” he asked.

Yes, Lochie mummy’s baby.

The room became eerily still. The evening light faded outside, the fan’s white noise seemed to fade too, and we both tuned in to the sound of my voice as I told Lochie about life.

Mummy made Lochie in her tummy. And you were mummy’s whole world. My sun and stars. But being alone is hard. Mummy loved you so much that she wanted to make you a friend. So mummy made Jono.

“Fire engine,” Lochie acknowledged.

For now, Jono is just a baby. When he grows up, he will be your favourite buddy, you’ll see.

“Dump truck,” Lochie nodded.

Jono loves Lochie, he looks up to his big brother, and he wants to play with you. So you have to share with Jono, and look after him. Mummy loves Jono, and mummy loves Lochie.

“Mummy loves Lochie,” Lochie reaffirmed.

Yes, you are mummy’s everything. And there is enough love to go around. Do you know what mummy loves? These toes. And these fingers. And this nose.

As Lochie pondered the meaning of life at 2 years and 4 months, I lowered him into his cot and tiptoed out.