Mad about the boy.


Yesterday, as I was away, when Xander came home he was looking for me. He's used to seeing me somedays when he comes back from nursery. If I am at home, I'll play peek-a-boo with him. He'll sit in the car and I'll poke my head out of the front door and wait until he sees me before I hide. His face opens in a beautiful smile. I poke my head out again, and he giggles and I hide.

Yesterday, almost every word out of his mouth, and every sentence ended in the words "Daddy". He came straight into the house and looked for me in every room. "Aka aka boo Daddy?" he said. I wasn't there. I was in Birmingham.

Today, Ellen was working late. He's used to being picked up by Mummy. I came alone, having made it by the skin of my teeth on time. He looked up, and he opened into an enormous, can't-help-myself grin, and ran at me, jibbering nonsense. He then remembered he had a football he loves more than me.

Every thing he said as we walked home ended with the words "mummy". EVERYTHING. "Where's Mummy?" I imagined him saying in Xanderlish. "Dookie Ata Mummy?" "Widji Mummy?" "Mummy?"

We neared a woman who looks like E. "Mummy?" he says. "Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!" he squeals. As we get nearer, and the woman ignores this hopeful boy, oblivious to this two year old's hopes and fears, he stops talking as he eyesight reveals it isn't Mummy. "Mummy". He murmurs, balefully, sadly.

I adore that boy.
- posted by Mark @ 9:53 pm