Why Sunday felt like Mother’s Day
‘Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy’
Baby Girl was standing in her cot bed shouting and trying to get some attention at around 7 on Sunday morning. After a short while, I could hear Daddy T next to me jumping out of bed and going into her room.
Wow. This must be my lucky day, I thought, and went back to sleep.
Twenty minutes later I was woken up again by Baby Girl, who had then made it into our room, armed with a clean nappy, milk, books and a big smile. Daddy T came two steps behind, and didn’t look at all annoyed that he’d been the one to take the early morning shift.
This time there were no complaints about me really being the one who should get up in the morning on weekends since he works so incredibly hard all week. After all, I hadn’t been in demand. There had been no ‘mummy, mummy, mummy,’ like there usually is, and I have a feeling Daddy T was quite touched by being the Sunday favourite.
Baby Girl, keep up the good work!
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