She Gets That From You…

Roriwrangling – by comedian, mum and radio announcer Kat Davidson

 

She Gets That From You…

 

My Ladybaby Rori is now almost eleven months old. It’s such a great age because she is getting mobile, starting to speak and showing her independence and personality. As lovely as tiny babies are, they’re not really ones for conversation or complex interaction. Of course, all of her pleasant traits come from me, and the negatives are definitely her father. I have checked with my parents, and I was an angel. Sure, I occasionally held my breath until I passed out to get attention, I used emotional blackmail to get what I wanted by making family members pretend to cry before I would give them affection and I only slept in brief power naps, but didn’t everyone?

 

Rori now enjoys a good game of peek a boo using her ride on car and loses her tiny mind at the pleasure of receiving the round of applause from her dad and I when she reappears from behind the wall. Over and over again. How did he manage to pass down the gene for a need for constant reinforcement from an audience? Ok, maybe I had something to do with that one. She used to turn cartwheels in the womb when I was going on stage. Sometimes she would knock as if she was clapping too when she heard applause. Is she now craving that high? What have I done?!

 

Now this one is definitely him – she pretends shyness when first meeting strangers. I can’t be responsible for that. I’m genuinely shy. Although its been a few years since I’ve been able to pull off coyly hiding my face in someone’s shoulder then smiling up at well timed intervals until they gave me a biscuit. Although I used to be ace at it. I really like biscuits.

 

She is an early riser. In our house, 6am is a leisurely lie-in and dawn is often not showing her crack before its playtime at casa Davidson. The daughter of a breakfast radio host (he’s Stav from B105 for those playing at home) must surely have picked that sort of antisocial behaviour up from him. Although she does get the accompanying crazy morning hair from me. We both look like Crusty the Clown in the AM and have frightened more than a few delivery folk when we bowl up to the door with our matching ginger fros and milk moustaches.

 

When she was born, she looked just like him only smaller and more yelly. Apparently, that doppleganger effect is so the dads don’t eat the babies. Now she looks much more like me. Which isn’t saving her from being chewed on by her mother. What is it about babies that makes their mothers want to gnaw on them? I can’t help it. Is there a support group for mothers that chew on the chubby cheeks and little legs of their babies? There should be. I’d go.

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