Conversations With Hatta: The Haircut

The conversations are imaginary, but the situations are real.

Earlier that day…

Me:   I’m going to get a haircut later today, so you can spend some quality time with Ayah. Is that ok?

H:      Sure.

Me:   Now it’ll just be a trim, ok? Nothing drastic. I’ll still be the same person, ok?

H:      Whatevs, Mummy. It’s not as if you’re going for plastic surgery or anything. Chill.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

After my hair appointment, I meet The Mister and Hatta for coffee. 

Me:   Hello there! What have you been up to? Did you and Ayah have fun?

H:      WHO ARE YOU WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO ME GO AWAYYYYYY

Me:   Hush Hatta, it’s only me… it’s Mummy!

H:      Stranger Danger! Stranger DANGER!

Me:   Calm down, Hatta. People are staring at us. Would you like me to hold you? Here, let me carry you.

H:      WHAT ARE YOU DOING WHY ARE YOU LIFTING ME UP LEAVE ME ALONE AYAH DO SOMETHING STRANGER DANGERRRRRRRR AYAH HELP SAVE MEEEEEEEE

Me:   Oh good God.

I hand the bawling baby to The Mister. 

Me:   There you go. Take a walk with Ayah and try to calm yourself down.

H:      *sniffle*  Stranger danger.

After he has calmed down, I prepare a bottle of milk.

H:      *eyes widening* Ooooohhhh milk time! Hello Mummy, you look a bit different. I wouldn’t have recognised you if it weren’t for that bottle of milk in your hand. You really should accessorise more.

Me:   With a milk bottle?

H:      It completes your look.

Me:   Honestly Hatta, you’re so dramatic. It was just a haircut. A trim. You needn’t bawl your eyes out.

H:      But you did look different at first.

Me:   Please stop exaggerating.

H:      No but it’s true. You look half decent. Almost presentable, even.

Me:   I beg your pardon? What did I look like before?

H:      Dishevelled and tired.

Me:   One of these days I’ll have to teach you how to tell a white lie.

H:      That’s a slippery slope, Mummy. A slippery slope.

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Conversations With Hatta: The Sock

The conversations are imaginary, but the situations are real. 

 

Me:    Where’s your sock?

H:       On my foot.

Me:     The other one.

H:        It flew.

Me:     Socks don’t fly.

H:       That one did.

Me:    Please stop fibbing and tell me what you’ve done with your sock.

H:       I’m not fibbing. I’m telling you, it flew.

Me:     Hatta…

H:       It flew out of my hand as I was waving it about.

Me:    (sighing) We’ll have to retrace our steps now. Do you remember where you flung it?

H:      I didn’t fling it. Not intentionally, at least. I was merely waving it to those people who were smiling at me. I was being friendly.

Me:    I’d rather you be friendly with your feet adequately covered. Now, do you remember where we were when your sock flew out of your hand?

H:       I’m not sure. Maybe somewhere in the dairy aisle. I was waving really excitedly at that old lady in the white blouse. She was looking at the yoghurts and I wanted to recommend a few good ones to her.

Me:    Right, let’s go back there and see whether we can find it.

H:       The yoghurt? You already know which one I like.

Me:     Your sock.

H:       Oh, right.

Me:     (scanning the floor while we retrace our steps) I really wish you wouldn’t pull off your socks and throw them about. Why do you always do that?

H:       I want my feet to breathe.

Me:    They get plenty of breathing time at home. When we go out, I’d appreciate it if you could keep your socks on, please. I don’t want you catching a cold.

H:       Now you’re just being silly, Mummy. How can a cold enter my feet and travel all the way up to my nose? Why would it? It seems very inefficient, don’t you think? Wouldn’t it be faster for the cold to just enter straight through my nose? Or just somewhere around the vicinity of my head? Who’s fibbing now? Oh look, that nice man is smiling and making faces at me. Hi!

Me:    He’s probably laughing at your bare-footedness. Ok, we’ve lost your sock. I don’t see it anywhere.

H:       Maybe you should ask one of the people who work here. Or the cleaner. Remember last week? Ayah went around looking for my sock and the cleaner had already taken it.

Me:     I’ve asked one of the employees, he hasn’t seen it. Looks like we’re adding another sock to the mismatch pile. One of these days I’m going to dress you up in mismatched socks. That’ll be your punishment.

H:        Pfft. Punishment indeed. People will think you’re the crazy one, can’t even dress her kid up properly. I’ll just widen my eyes and feign innocence.

Me:     Sigh.

 

Conversations With Hatta: Prison Break

The conversations are imaginary, but the situations are real. 

 

Hatta:   I broke through! I’m free! You thought you could confine me within these flimsy plastic panels, Mummy… you thought wrong! With my newfound mobility, I can finally explore the world!

Me:        What on earth are you babbling about?

I turn to look at him. 

Me:        Oh look at you, then. You’ve managed to roll out.

Hatta:   Yes indeed! I’ve escaped from that horrible primary-coloured monstrosity of a playpen I’ve been cooped up in… and now I’m freeeeeeee!

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I walk up to him and pick him up.

Hatta:   Oh thank you Mummy, but you really don’t have to bring me around anymore… I can roll to wherever I please. Except upstairs. I can’t really roll up the stairs unfortunately. I might – oh you’re picking me up? Ok then, would you mind carrying me over to our next door neighbour’s, please? I’d really love to meet their dog – the one who barks incessantly whenever I’m napping. Wait – no – the neighbour’s house is THAT way, Mummy – no – what are you doing? No, don’t put me back in the playpen! Mummy! It took a lot of kicking and rolling to get out! Mummy!

Me:        Stay in here, Hatta. I need to cook, and I can’t afford to have you rolling all over the place. It’s dangerous.

Hatta:   Ugh. Foiled again. It’s ok Mummy. Maybe not today. But I’m working on my crawl, and pretty soon I’ll be unstoppable!

Me:        I can only imagine.

Hatta:   Yup, I’ll be crawling all over the place – and you won’t be able to stop me!

Me:        Well you can help mop the floor while you’re at it then. I’ve got some spare cleaning pads that would fit nicely on your shins. Just make sure you crawl in an orderly fashion. I wouldn’t want you to miss any spots.

Hatta:   Very funny Mummy. Ha. Ha. We’ll see whether you’ll still be laughing in a few week’s time.

Conversations With Hatta: The Food Crisis

The conversations are imaginary, but the situations are real. 

 

It’s milk time. The little bear is happily drinking, almost at the end of his bottle.

Me:        Allllright then, you’re done.

Hatta:   Wait! I’m not done yet!

Me:        Yes you are, Hatta. There’s no milk left. See? The bottle’s empty.

Hatta:   THERE’S NO MILK LEFT?!?

Me:        In your bottle, Hatta. Of course there’s still some –

Hatta:   OH MY GOD THERE’S NO MILK LEFT! WE ARE FACING A FOOD CRISIS!

Me:        Calm down, Ha –

Hatta:   LISTEN UP, PEOPLE! WE ARE ALL DOOMED! THERE IS NO. MILK. LEFT. IN THE WORLD!!!

Me:        Oh good grief. Not this again.

Hatta:   IT’S THE END OF THE WORLD, FOLKS! WE DON’T HAVE MUCH TIME LEFT! BREAK OUT THOSE CANS OF FOOD STASHED AT THE BACK OF YOUR CUPBOARDS WHILE WE WAIT FOR OUR INEVITABLE END!!!

Me:        Would you please calm down? You’re overreacting. There is no food cri-

Hatta:   OH THE AGONYYYYYYY

Me:        Hatta, shush! People are turning to look at us.

Hatta:   AND SO THEY SHOULD! WE ARE ALL GOING TO STAAAARVE… eh? Hmm.

Me:        What’s the matter now?

Hatta:   I’m not hungry anymore.

Me:        Of course. You just finished an entire bottle of milk. It should last you till your next feed.

Hatta:   My next feed? You mean there’s still milk?

Me:        Of course there is.

Hatta:   Phew! Food crisis averted, people! As you were!

Me:        Are you going to embarrass me like this every time we go out?

Hatta:   Hush, mummy. I’m feeling really tired. I’m going to take a nap now.

Me:        Sigh.

 

Conversations With Hatta: Me Time

The conversations are imaginary, but the situations are real.

 

 

Me:                  You sure you’ll be okay?

The Mister:   Yeah. Don’t worry.

Me:                  Alright then. I should be gone for a couple of hours. Three hours at the most. If he gets hungry there’s milk in the fridge.

The Mister:   We’ll be fine. Have fun.

Me:                  (skipping and dancing to the car) Woohoo freedommmmmm!

The Mister:   Err… don’t forget to come home!

 


 

Hatta:             Why is Mummy so happy, Ayah? Where is she going? Wait… why isn’t she taking me with her? She forgot me!

The Mister:   No she didn’t. She has an appointment with the hairdresser’s. She’ll be back in a few hours. In the meantime, I’ll take care of you. It’ll just be the two of us.

Hatta:             But you’ve never taken care of me on your own before. Without Mummy around.

The Mister:   There’s a first for everything. I’ll manage.

Hatta:             Why couldn’t we all go out, together?

The Mister:   Mummy needs her “me time”.

Hatta:             What’s “me time”?

The Mister:   Some newfangled idea about having some time away from us for her to relax. Apparently to avoid tipping over the edge.

Hatta:             Oh pish posh. Taking care of me can’t be all that bad. Keep me well fed and I’m happy.

The Mister:   Well to be fair, there are times when you drive your mother crazy, you know. With your incessant bawling.

Hatta:             Ridiculous. I’m nothing if not adorable.

The Mister:   Not on your cranky days. There have been times when she was this close to smashing stuff against the wall in frustration.

Hatta:             Oh… that must explain those days when she turns into a monster. I just thought she was some kind of She-Hulk. Or play-acting, for my amusement.

The Mister:   Mummy doesn’t act, Hatta. When she loses her temper, you take cover.

Hatta:             So she is a She-Hulk, then.

The Mister:   Sometimes. So, what shall we do now? Are you up for some tummy time?

Hatta:             Hmmm… not feeling it. When will Mummy be back?

The Mister:   In about a couple of hours or so.

Hatta:             I think I’ll take a quick nap then. I’ll wake up when she gets home.

The Mister:   I have no problems with that; makes my job easier.

Hatta:             It’s her first time out without me. I bet she misses me.

The Mister:   I don’t know… she seemed awfully happy when she left. Like a prisoner out on bail.

Hatta:            (yawning) I still think she’ll miss me.

 


 

Me:                  (in the car) Aaaaah a few hours of freedom… this feels sooooo good!

I drive into a parking lot. It is relatively early on a Saturday morning, and the parking lot is empty.

Me:                  Oooooh look Hatta bear! Not a car in sight! We must be pretty early! Are we the first ones here, you think?

Silence.

Me:                  Hatta bear?

Silence.

Me:                  Tsk! I forgot! You’re at home with Ayah. And I’m the crazy woman talking to herself in the car, in an empty parking lot. Sigh.