At first it was just the odd ‘why?’ here and there. I enjoyed it, her sudden interest in the world I take for granted was refreshing. I loved the new element of conversation that her questions brought about.
But then the ‘whys’ took on a life of their own. We couldn’t get through the simplest of tasks without at least ten ‘whys’. I found my patience waning, my answers grew shorter, through gritted teeth I said, “Because I said so!”
My husband’s approach to the ‘whys’ was to respond with long and complicated answers hoping that G would lose interest (to be fair, it works on me...). His plan succeeded for a while, but G being G soon sussed it out… wiping the smug look off his face as she protested “But Why Daddy?”
Today G picked up a photo of my dad.
I sat down with her as she held it in her little hands.
“That’s a photo of me and my Daddy,” I told her.
“That’s your Granddad John.”
|Me and my dad|
She looked at the photo, and then back at me. Silent for once.
I’m glad she spared me the ‘whys’. One day I’ll have to tell her that we lost Granddad John long before she was born. But not today, not if I can help it.
“I wish he could know you,” I said, stroking her hair.
“He would have really loved you!”
“Because you’re amazing!”
“Because you have great genes!”
“Why Mummy? Why? Why? Why?”
“Who wants a cup of tea?”