“You’re my best friend” Zachy declared last week.
It changes every day, of course, depending on which one of us looks most likely to cave in to his request for chocolate buttons first.
And, only then are the Greek God(zilla) and I deemed worthy enough if none of his friends from nursery are in sight.
Personally, I do not have a single best friend. If I was pushed to choose one person to rank above all the others, then I guess I would say my husband and if that was not allowed, then I would say my sister.
Likewise, being a best friend is not something I have ever particularly aspired to be. A good friend, yes. The best friend I can possibly be, most definitely.
But on the day this honour was bestowed upon me, I wore my new status with pride and started thinking about all the reasons why I think I do deserve the esteemed Best Friend title so much more often!
For starters, when we stay home I always cook, and when we go out for lunch or dinner, I always pay.
Even though sometimes, the food remains untouched or ends up all over the floor.
Plus, I do not get upset when he does not let me play with his toys even though he sometimes will throw an almighty strop if I do not let him play with mine (iPad).
We tell each other funny stories and mine are designed with the sole intention of making him laugh.
When we go shopping together, he helpfully throws things into the trolley that he thinks we will both enjoy (chocolate hobnobs, a Peppa Pig book) and I only return one of the items back to the shelf…
I dedicate entire weekends to taking him to parks, farms, museums, aquariums, playdates or various 3-year old’s birthday parties.
I take him shoe shopping. Although, he may never really fully appreciate this particular gesture.
I console him when he is tired, upset or plain fricking furious with me for offering him a strawberry flavoured yoghurt, when he really wanted peach.
I put down my (still unfinished) December 2010 issue of Red magazine to read him The Gruffalo’s Child. Again.
When it’s raining outside, I always let him choose the movie we’ll watch.
We brush each other’s hair.
I help him pick out what clothes to wear and he empties entire contents of my drawers out so I get a complete picture of what my own wardrobe options are.
When he asks for a cuddle, I always oblige. When I ask for one, he’ll sometimes/sometimes not.
I always ask about his day first.
He supports my never-ending weight loss quest by insisting on sharing whatever food I have on my plate.
I keep all his secrets. There is no need for the Greek God(zilla) to know that he used one of his t-shirts to wipe his nose. No need at all…