Friday, 28 January 2011

"Baby Casanova"

Dumpie:  "Mama you are cute."

Me: "What Dumps?"

Dumpie:  "You are cute...and pretty...and beautiful...(he pauses for a moment)...and lovely"

Though suspicious of such flattery being in all likelihood the preemptive buttering up, uttered for the express purpose of getting his grubby little paws on a pre-dinner biscuit....I fall for it nonetheless.

And to his credit, in this instance he merely follows up such heartfelt admonitions with a cheeky grin and a kiss to my arm before toddling off - taking his four year old self off to see what mischief he can get up to.

Perhaps it's just that he's coming into himself - or should I say his masculine ways - and practising up for a lifetime of wooing the ladies, starting with his exhausted, world weary Mama.

For the other day as I dropped him off next door at the Kindergarten, one of the male teachers greeted him  with, "Good morning Casanova!"

I looked at the teacher, smiling but puzzled, then glanced over to where he was gesturing.  Hanging off the swinging wooden school gate where no less than five little girls shouting excitedly at Dumpie, waving and bouncing up and down.

I was rather shocked.  Didn't know what to make of it.  The teacher smiled and said, "You see why we call him Casanova?  All the girls love him very much."

I'll say.

Glancing over at Dumps I could see a mixture of pride and embarrassment clouding his features.  So what did this tiny testosterone-bundled munchkin do?  He stopped a few feet from the entrance, spread his legs in a warrior stance and Judd Nelson-like (as in the last scene of the Breakfast Club) punched his fist into the air in a triumphant gesture and just stood there, scrunching up his features like a little tiger growling, 'Grrrrrr'.

Okay, so the little guy has some work to do on his follow through...but I reckon with continued development in the charisma and flirtation stakes, he's on course to become a real life Casanova.

The husband anticipates that we shall be in for some very difficult years fielding phone calls from irate fathers of daughters...

And where shall I be in all this?  Probably letting Dumps get away with murder on account of his continuing to state, "You are so pretty Mama...and so nice...and I love you so much...and you are so lovely...and so cute."  (And this when i'm a greying toothless old crone with bunions or some such...just wait.)

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