Janet Christie on parenting: "They were being sarcastic, sniff, snotter ..."

Published on 01/08/2011 00:27

Youngest Child is basically a boy with extra felt pens. She has some girl toys, like her brothers' dolls' house – a bid to socially engineer men in touch with their feminine sides (they played earthquakes) – until, dry eyed, she waved it off to the school fair.

"What if you have children?" I asked.

"Ha! Probably won't. And if I do, you'll be looking after them. You keep it."

It goes, and I plan my future world tour.

This week there's more boy behaviour. Two of her friends come for a sleepover. Elementary error, an odd number. Warring factions should be equal. Ah ken noo.

I find Youngest watching telly alone. "Where's Wee Minx One?"

"In the bathroom. Leave her. She's fine."

I hear sobbing through the door. "What's wrong sweetie?"

"They're disagreeing, gasp, sob …"

Then Wee Minx Two is discovered wedged between a sideboard and the wall. "They were being sarcastic, sniff, snotter …"

Youngest crunches her crisps, unperturbed. "What's wrong with them?" I ask. "Nothing," she says. "They're girls."

Boy sleepovers are all heavy carb provision and the odd whiff of smoke that precludes a raid where I shout then return to the TV. But this! Drying tears, giving cuddles, treats, joining in the post-tears hysterical giggling … I'm wrung out.

Sometimes it's hard to be a woman.