My daughter is a diva. Not in a good way.
This has never been more evident than in her behaviour this week. At times I thought she was actually going to put a pair of sunglasses on her 18 month old face and strut out of the room shouting “Talk to the hand, ‘cos the face ain’t listenin’…”.
Thursday was the pinnacle of the superstar behaviour. At around 2.30pm I received a text from the childminder saying “Please call me when you receive this message”. With my heart racing and my stomach churning I found out my daughter needed collecting. Immediately.
“She’s not settled at all today,” said the childminder. “She’s been off her food and I’m sure she has an ear infection”. Already feeling Mother Guilt kicking me up the backside for going to work when my child was clearly ill, I managed to get her a last-minute appointment with the doctor that evening.
And it was here that Frog was replaced with Britney Spears.
As the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine and I nervously chatted in low voices amongst ourselves, Frog swanned around the waiting room (if crawling can be done in a “swan-like” manner) waving at each and every one of the other patients, before hiding her face in mock shyness.
Convinced my child was just showing some true inherited Northern grit, I told the doctor she was very poorly and really wasn’t herself. “Let me take a look at her”, he said, in a business-like tone.
This didn’t go down well. The ensuing scene involved Frog being pinned by her father as the doctor attempted to find the source of the nasty infection in her ear. “There’s really nothing wrong with her”, he announced. “By the way, is she walking yet?”
This question prompted a snort of disapproval from my already annoyed 18 month old. Leaning forward and taking a swipe at his stethoscope, Frog made it clear what she thought of this doctor and his inclination towards moving around on two feet.
Undeterred the doctor suggested we walk Frog round the room, holding hands, so he could see exactly how mobile she was. Inwardly sighing I lifted my daughter to the floor and attempted to persuade her to walk.
But Britney was back. And kicking. And screaming. And hitting the ground. And rolling around. And more kicking.
Before sitting up and announcing a word not disimilar to “Duck” but far more offensive.
I don’t think we’ll be going back.