Mantra

They breed, you know. My daughter's tried-and-tested, repetitive mantras suddenly beget new ones. But brand new perseverating question and answer riffs aren't always the genetic offspring of previous obsessions - sometimes they arrive like random cuckoos in the nest. Needing a new home. Needing my daughter to mould them, repeat them, mould them some more, and repeat and repeat and repeat until they’re part of our daily life.

This one, I sense, is going to stick around.

“Mummy, I’m overweight, aren’t I?”
“No, sweetheart, you’re not, you’re just right.”

“I’m overweight. My tummy’s too big.”

“No, it’s not. It’s just that you’ve only just had your tea, so it’s a bit full at the minute, so it sticks out more, but then it goes down, and you’re just right again.”

“Oh.”

“Everyone’s tummy does that.”

“I’m not as overweight as you, am I?”

“No, you’re not.”

“My tummy isn’t as fat as yours, is it?”

“No. Your tummy isn’t as fat as mine.”

I feel like I should point something out. She opens her eyes wide, waiting. I think she recognises the scrunched-up, bulldog expression on my face. The one I make when I’m really thinking hard about the best way to explain things.

“Er...sweetheart, don’t say that to other people, please, because it’s a little bit rude.”

“Oh. OK. Why?”

“Well, some people might feel a bit sad that they are overweight and it might upset them if you go on about it.”

“Oh. OK.”

She gives me her own scrunched-up expression. It’s the face she makes when she kind of realises she probably should stop now, but she just can’t. 

“Mummy, I’m overweight, aren’t I?”

I’ll give her three goes. Three repetitions, before I do a Big Daddy splash on her. With my big fat belly.

Video is Hot Chip - Over And Over