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Although I know I have to stop, I just love hearing her laugh. “Okay, okay. Go potty, and then we can snuggle for a bit.”
She darts off to the bathroom. My child doesn’t seem to have a slow motion cell in her body, everything she does is fast or super fast.
I stretch in bed, savoring the quiet moment. When she returns and wriggles under the covers with me, she wraps her little arms around my neck, and I hold her close.
“I love you, Mummy,” she whispers against my ear.
Warmth spreads through me. “I love you too, my little duckling.”
“So, what are we doing today?” she asks, her tone bright and eager.
I love her ability to change topics in the blink of an eye. It’s like her brain is going at lightning speed.
“Do you want to help me make breakfast?”
“Yes! I’m a tiny chef, Mummy. You’ll be my helper. Deal?”
I chuckle at her serious tone, tickling her sides again.
“No tickling the chef, Mummy. That’s an order!” she says, trying to sound stern, but her giggles fill the room as she tickles me back.
“Okay, okay—truce.” I surrender, laughing breathlessly.
Ava hops off my bed and races to the kitchen, and by the time I join her, she’s already washed her hands and has her little apron on.
“Can we make pancakes with chocolate chips, please, Mummy?” she asks, looking up at me with hopeful eyes.
I smile and kiss the top of her head. “Only if we cut some fruit to eat as well.”
“Deal!” she says with enthusiasm, as if she truly is the one in charge.
Once we have all the ingredients on the counter, Ava carefully measures the pancake mix and milk, then she cracks an egg, and mixes it all together very gently. I prepare the pan and help her pour the batter. She adds in some chocolate chips and beams with pride when I help her flip the first pancake.
“Why don’t you cut some bananas while I keep making pancakes?” I suggest.
“Great idea, Mummy,” she says, grabbing two bananas from the fruit basket and one of the kid-safe knives I got her for Christmas. Watching her so comfortable around the kitchen makes me beyond proud of my girl.
When I first came to London over six years ago, I had planned to just stay for the summer—just long enough to learn English while exploring this magnificent city. But one summer became six months, then a year. That’s when I met Konstantine.
As I work in the kitchen, my mind drifts back to the countless times Ava asked me to tell her how I met her father.
I couldn’t help but smile as I started the story. “I was leaving work and had to walk to jump on the tube. It was a dark and rainy night. For some reason, I felt like I had eyes following me.”
Her eyes widened with excitement. “And then Daddy came out of the shadows and saved you?”
Ava’s imagination had been running wild lately, probably because of her new obsession with superheroes. We had been watchingSpidey and His Amazing Friends—a lot.
I chuckled. “No, he didn’t save me. But hewasthe one watching me.”
Ava’s eyes grew wide, and I bopped her nose.
“I kept walking, and the closer I got to the Tube station, the louder I heard footsteps trailing me. I thought I was going to be robbed or something. Taking a deep breath, I stopped in my tracks and turned around, and there he was—a tall, handsome guy with curious brown eyes and light brown hair. Just like yours.”
Ava swooned, clapping her hands dramatically.
“He said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just at the pub and saw you leaving and thought I’d walk with you—to make sure you were safe.’”
I deepened my voice to mimic Konstantine’s, and Ava giggled.