“Mummy, Mummy, will you break my head?”
“Oh sorry – will you break my head please?”
“Will I break your head?”
“Yes.” Nods with satisfaction.
“Do you mean kiss your head, Grace? Do you want Mummy to kiss your head?”
“Nooooooo” looks at me like I’m stupid. “I show you.”
With the patience of a carer looking after the elderly, she advances and places my hands either side of the top of her little head holding them firmly in place. She then throws her head rhythmically from side to side whilst chanting . . .
“Break . . my . . . head . . . break . . . my . . . head . . . break . . . my . . . head”
“Grace this is a bit weird.”
“Break . . . my . . . head . . . break . . . my . . . head . . .”
Stops long enough to absolutely collapse with laughter before resuming the game.
“Break. . . my . . . head . . . break . . . my . . . head . . .”
Her enjoyment in this bizarre activity is so infectious that I can’t help but laugh and play along.
“Break . . . my . . . head . . . break . . . my . . . head” We chorus together as we merrily fling Grace’s head around. Then a picture springs to mind: of Grace at Nursery telling her key worker how Mummy grabs her by the head and tries to break it. The game swiftly ceases.
“Let’s play something else Grace, this game isn’t very good.”
“Ok – let’s go break Daddy’s head.”
“Yes let’s go break Da . . . oo NO Grace, let’s NOT break Daddy’s head.”
We pause a minute, pondering what else we could play.
She gibbles off, I assume to find another game that doesn’t have implications of violence. I was wrong, (of course). She swiftly returns with her very annoying talking Peppa Pig soft toy.
“Mummy, my break Peppa’s head?”
“Er . . . yeah, ok.”