Our daughter is growing up right before our eyes

Irony is, the other Saturday, we found smudges of red lipstick on her white bed sheets. Then there are the smooch-ish smudges of little lips on our mirror. ILLUSTRATION | BARASA 

In Summary

• On Sundays, Pudd’ng chooses her church ensemble. Most Sundays she’s on point, others, she is, um, “ish-ish”. Like the last one.
• Too bad. The previous day, baby girl was complaining of back pain, which made Doctor Mom to issue a fashion decree: no more wedges, a decree that did not go down well with the patient.

By JOSAYA WASONGA
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I call it the haute eights. That’s the developmental milestone our eight-year-old daughter is at. (Psst. Sometimes it seems like a millstone).

On Sundays, Pudd’ng chooses her church ensemble. Most Sundays she’s on point, others, she is, um, “ish-ish”. Like the last one. She wanted to wear a red dress with wedges, and nothing but. She didn’t say it though, not outright. She just kept overruling the shoes mom suggested. From Pudd’ng’s and Tenderoni’s “tag-of-wardrobe”, I learnt this - if Pudd’ng does not want to wear a certain dress or shoes, any excuse goes, coupled with a performance worthy of an Oscar. That’s the game she played when Tenderoni kept compelling her to pair a dress with flats.

The Grinch Who Stole Sunday Best

“They’re tight,” she winced, “I can’t walk in them.”

Too bad. The previous day, baby girl was complaining of back pain, which made Doctor Mom to issue a fashion decree: no more wedges, a decree that did not go down well with the patient. Pudd’ng finally settled for a pair of rubber shoes, only for Tenderoni to play The Grinch Who Stole Sunday Best and tell her, “You look like a cucu in those rubber shoes and dress.”

This comment made Pudd’ng to almost refuse to go to church. She brought it up as we waited for a bus. “Dah-dee? Do I look like a grandma?”

Seeing as we were going to church, I dished the gospel truth. “You look grand, ma’am.”

Sharing is caring

Toward the end of last term, for a practical Christian Religious Education lesson, our daughter’s teacher asked them to carry snacks, which they would share with their desk mates. As usual, all the way from school, Pudd’ng kept the reminders coming. Thick and fast.

Come morning, she asked if we had packed extra snacks. “I’ll share them with my desk mate,” she said.

“Guess what my deskmate brought me?” Pudd’ng sang on our way home from school. “It starts with the letter, n.”

Bathrobe gigs

Tenderoni surprised us with bathrobes the other day. Me? My modus operandi is shower-towel-done. But the bathrobe’s helping fight the 3.30 a.m. cold, when my alarm goes off, and I send “knee mail”. (Psst. As a boy, a t-shirt was as good as a towel).

To Pudd’ng, the bathrobe’s a fashion statement …

“How do I look?” 

Hem. Haw.  

Now her bathrobe’s got a whole new clandestine gig. I suspect.

Lip service

“Dah-dee? I keep telling mom that lipsticks are made with fish scales,” Pudd’ng reports. 

How she knows that, I don’t know. Irony is, the other Saturday, we found smudges of red lipstick on her white bed sheets. Then there are the smooch-ish smudges of little lips on our mirror. Every morning, you’ll-never-catch-me-dead-with-chapped-lips pupil smears oodles of baby jelly on her lips. I’ve read the label on the tub and it reads: “Helps prevent nappy rash”. Nah, I won’t spoil Pudd’ng’s pout, besides, what’s good for cheeks is good for chapped lips too. I think. 

N is for nail polish. Screamin’ green, to be precise. Which is why, all the way home, baby girl was excited, talking about how mama would be jealous. “Dah-dee? At first, my desk mate was reluctant to show me the nail polish.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

In the evening, we wore our parenting caps. What if the boy took the nail polish without permission? What if …

While prepping in the morning, I talk with my daughter. I give her words of wisdom. I assure her we’re not imputing improper motive. “But it’s always prudent to be sure. Go and ask him, then, if he took it with permission, you can have it with a clean heart. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Turns out we didn’t have cause to worry, but in such matters, a parent would rather err on the side of caution.

Quick-change tricks

Eight-something pm. We’re watching our favourite soap, South Africa’s 'Rhythm City'. Record exec, Doc Dandala’s teen daughter, the gutsy Zinzi, is sprawled on the sofa in her bathrobe. Doc tells her goodnight. A few seconds later, Zinzi peels her bathrobe. What’s underneath is every dad’s nightmare. Hot pants. Sexy top. Stilettos. “That old trick still works,” Pudd’ng exclaims.

(Psst. Friday nights, if I leave Pudd’ng watching TV in her bathrobe, “that old trick” replays in this old salt’s mind).