There are moments when I wish my daughter had never learnt the word 'Mummy'. Normally this is the case at it's 156th uttering in the space of 30 seconds. Or when it is 4am and it's a 'Muuuummmmmmyyyyy'; it's far easier to ignore a plain normal angry cry than the personal, heart wrenching cry aimed solely at me.
Generally I am actually quite pleased to hear myself being called Mummy.
A while ago I read somewhere that parents who start to call each other Mum and Dad will find their sex lives waining.
As PD and I are meant to be reducing that kind of activity, the fact that we seem to have slipped into the habit of refering to each other as Mum and Daddy doesn't really matter. Now I come to think of it he calls me Mum more than I him Dad, but, we won't go there.
Yes, I did think it was something I would never do, but what did I know. I promise we only do it when talking to or around Isobel, not in the pub over a pint or anything.
As this is the case, I was really surprised when Isobel knew what my name is. I mean my real name.