How I Am Now Piglet’s Dadda

Piglet, as we all know, does not have a dadda.

He does, however, like to say “dadda” a lot, thus proving that the word is nothing more than a meaningless piece of baby babble.  A small victory for all mothers across the nation who are fretting that their children are obsessed with their fathers and do not care a jot for them.  When you think about it, perhaps this is why patriarchy exists; because the role of mothers has been devalued by puffed-up fathers thinking they are the more important parent because, despite the fact that it is the mothers who carry and birth the children, those children still appear to grow up to prefer their fathers, as supposedly proven since time immemorial by the fact that “dadda” is invariably the first word (unless of course the wee ones prefer dogs, which may be the case with Piglet, as I wrote about here).

Despite the lack of male parentage, since I have been living with my mother we seem to have fallen into particular roles in the house, and I am pretty sure that my role is the one that would be traditionally associated with Dadda.  For a start, I am reliably informed by those whose children do have fathers that they like to take on the role of the “fun” (i.e. letting the wee one do whatsoever they please) parent.

And this is definitely me.

It is sadly the case that I, who was previously sole carer and provider, attached to Piglet 24 hours a day without a break, now spend large chunks of time sitting on the sofa browsing the Internets while my mother runs around frantically stopping Piglet from knocking over the television or emptying the entire contents of the DVD cabinet onto his head.

When we lived in my flat, I might add, neither of these things were necessary as he was allowed to bash the television to his little heart’s content, as long as it was with plastic implements rather than metal, and preferably no bigger than the size of a pen (one has to have some standards), and knocking DVDs off the shelf, opening the cases, taking the CDs out and chewing them, was a particular beloved game.  Which he was also allowed to play.

Consequently, my mother thinks Piglet has got to the age of one without grasping the concept of boundaries, and must be re-educated in such matters as not staying up until 11pm crawling around the living room, not picking up bits of wood chip from the garden, and definitely not throwing food on the floor.  I, on the other hand, am largely if not in complete favour of all of these things, then at least prepared to tolerate them until the time comes when Piglet has a vague grasp of language and can be reasoned with.

I think this officially makes me Good Cop.  Does this mean Piglet thinks I am Dadda?

8 Comments Add yours

  1. Lovely to read another blog by another single mum who is a teacher. My youngest has also never met his Dad and hadn’t heard the word, so I was shocked when he said Dadda before Mumma (as well as being a bit upset). However, he now doesn’t stop saying Mummy 🙂

    1. Min says:

      Hi and thank you for your comment. I’m also glad to read another blog by a teacher. I’ve been trying to improve my website over the summer and it is proving to be a lot more time-consuming than I’d expected, so it’s great to see that someone else manages to do it successfully-and with six kids as well! I’m impressed!

  2. Pen says:

    I really enjoyed reading this post. You have a very witty writing style. I like it ! This post resonates a lot. My son is 11 months old. He says Dadda a lot despite my consistent attempts to teach him to say mumma. You are right, he doesn’t associate Dadda with his father.

    I am a newly single mother. We separated when my son was 5 months. My decision to leave. My ex and I have very different morals and views on what is important in life. He always likes to have his own way. That wasn’t going to work for me long term ( or indeed short term if truth be told) so I called off the wedding and am now living with my son in my new flat (which needs a hell of a lot of work!).

    My Mum, Grandma is also heavily involved and looks after Baba 2 days a week. Often more. I work full time. Whilst I find it cute and endearing to watch him squeeze a strawberry in his hand so the juice runs all over the carpet, Grandma does not find this cute and has started to discipline him with a firm no. When good cop (me) tries the same I get a laugh from Baba. I clearly have no authority. I am very much the Dadda.

    Glad I’ve discovered your blog. I look forward to reading more. You can check out my blog at . I warn you though tales of relationship breakdown are littered like dog turd through my blog. Light, uplifting reading it certainly isn ‘t. X

    1. Min says:

      Hi Pen, thanks for your comment. That is so me as well with the strawberries! Today again at dinner time my mother and I almost descended into fisticuffs over the question of just how much mess Piglet should be allowed to make on her carpet. I will definitely have a read through some more of your posts. It sounds like you’ve had a really tough time and it’s so cathartic being able to write things down.

  3. This is so funny!
    But your poor mum running about while you’re on Internet-this reminds me of what I’m like when I go to my mums for the day!

    1. Min says:

      I know-I’m always inventing arbitrary rules about internet usage in front of the baby-but invariably have trouble sticking to them! The lure of Twitter is just too great…

  4. I that having to be good cop and bad cop is one of the hardest things about being a single parent. Your mum sounds really supportive and obviously recognises that you need some downtime every now and again. Sounds like a brilliant arrangement to me! Lovely to discover your blog.

    1. Min says:

      She is-and thank you for reading!

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