I Owe An Apology To Big Nutbrown Hare

Books, glorious (children's) books

Welcome to Baby Brain, a space where I – Charlotte, hi! – write about family life with three small children – Poppet (m, 5 years), Pickle (m, 3 years) and Peach (f, 1 year.) Those are not their real names. These are real stories from our days.

This may be controversial – what with it having sold 60 million copies worldwide and all – but I hate Guess How Much I Love You.

Hate it. H A T E it.

Or, at least, I did.

The first time Guess How Much I Love You entered my orbit, I was talking to a friend. “What is a scratch mitt and why do I need it?” I had just finished asking, running through a list of what I might need to buy for an as-yet unborn Poppet, when she said the following: “Just don’t buy Guess How Much I Love You, everyone will buy it as a gift.” “What’s Guess How Much I Love You?” I asked, from my life on the other side of motherhood. “Oh!” she laughed, “you’ll know.”

My friend was wrong (fool!) I didn’t receive a copy of Guess How Much I Love You. But she was right, too, because I did receive some merch, which led me to buy the book, pulling me into this fictional universe and leaving me ‘in the know.’

Earlier this week, I tried to find our copy of Guess How Much I Love You. Having searched high and low, I cannot find any trace of it in my house. Due to this lack of source material, it is important to note that what I am about to say might be entirely misremembered and/or an outright lie. But this is what I recall of the text: Two hares – Big Nutbrown and Little Nutbrown – are engaged in a fight to the death. Little Nutbrown, the child hare, begins said fight by approaching his daddy, and telling him he loves him. “I love you to the stars” (or something to that nature) he says and Big Nutbrown, sensing a challenge, replies “I love you to the stars and back again.” “I love you to the ends of the universe,” Little Nutbrown says, squaring up, to which Big Nutbrown says “I love you to the ends of the universe and back again!” “I love you more than anything in the world,” Little Nutbrown says, getting desperate, and “I love you more than anything in the world and then more than that,” Big Nutbrown one ups him, looking smug. Big Nutbrown wins, as he knew he would, and I – back in the real world – am left outraged. “What is this guy’s problem?” I remember saying to my husband, “why can’t he let his kid win?” My husband, having no idea what I was on about, said nothing. I gave the book another go, coming to an even more scathing conclusion after the second and third reading, thinking, ‘seriously, why is this massive man of a rabbit so insecure that he can't let a little boy have the last word?’ And then I shelved the story indefinitely, and found something less infuriating to read. “I’ll let you win, Poppet,” I believe I even said, “I won’t be like him.”

Fast forward to present day, and Poppet, Pickle and I have begun having a conversation on repeat. It goes a bit like this:

Poppet: I love you, mummy

Me: I love you too, sweetheart

Poppet: No but I REALLY love you

Me: And I REALLY love you

Pickle: I love you to the bottom of the universe

Me: And I love you even more than that

Pickle: I love you to the bottom of a star!

Me: And I love you to the bottom of a star and all the other stars

Poppet: I love you more than you love me

Me: Impossible

This goes on until, inevitably, I start to feel a bit suffocated by the idea of these children – my very own hearts walking around outside of my body – wandering this earth, believing they could possibly outmatch the levels of love I hold for them, and bring the whole thing to a close by declaring that they will not win this fight because I will always love them more, at which point I recoil in horror to find that I have become the very thing that I hated.

I have become Big Nutbrown Hare.

There I am.

Children’s books are bonkers – you know it, I know it. Here are my thoughts on some other works in my children’s collection.

• Let’s start with a classic… The Very Hungry Caterpillar. So I’ve heard a lot of discourse about this book, mainly about the binging caterpillar and his one green leaf theory being shamey. I don’t see this so much as – and do forgive me this opinion – I have suffered gastrointestinal issues since Peach was born and have actually found that a nice salad can relieve my symptoms somewhat when I’ve been on a mad one and eaten only junk for a week. However, where I do take issue with this book is with where exactly this caterpillar is finding all of this food. I’m assuming he’s in either a park or a garden which means someone has likely brought all the grub along with them, and has had to pre-plan. Most likely a mum. Most likely a mum that now has to deal with not only an extraordinary amount of food waste, but with small children screaming at her because some sinister creep ate their sausages and lollipops before turning into goo. Irresponsible is what it is, heartless.

• Five Minutes Peace. The story of a mummy elephant trying to relax while her three elephant children harass her, Five Minutes Peace is a classic for mums whose children have picked up the unfortunate habit of having screaming matches over who gets to sit on her knee as she, overstimulated from said screaming, wonders why no-one has clocked her very real desire to have those knees all to herself. (Projecting? ME?)

• Would You Like A Banana? Required reading for anyone entering the toddler years, Would You Like A Banana? is the story of a gorilla who doesn’t want a banana THANKS, until of course his mum stops offering a banana, at which point he wants MORE BANANAS and he wants them NOW, which makes me howl with laughter because, hello, welcome to my life.

Excellent imagery, too

• Babies Can Sleep Anywhere. Harmful propaganda, babies sleep next to nowhere and this book sets mums up to fail.

• And, finally, Mr Magnolia. The story of a, shall we say, unusual fellow with only one shoe, Mr Magnolia follows Mr Magnolia as he goes about his life playing with local children and the like whilst only wearing one boot. He has his own house so can definitely afford a second shoe. In the end a child arrives at his home to gift him a boot that is different to his current boot and he wears them together which begs the question, where are these children’s parents? Why are they OK with their children giving shoes to strange men that have them follow him around on his scooter? And, also, just generally speaking, WHAT IS GOING ON?

*Clears throat.* Anyway, thanks for letting me vent, this could go on forever so I shall end this now, just in time to crawl into bed and read a grown up book before the kids emerge from their beds clutching another nonsensical story for me to warp their sweet young minds with.

Most likely one about poo.

Until next time 🐰

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