Julie Jay: Politicians and toddlers will say almost anything to get what they want

Politicians and three-year-olds will say anything to get what they want, but don’t be deceived by their praise and compliments. Their words are as hollow as the secreted-away Easter egg at the bottom of your wardrobe, the one you were saving for Christmas/next year. At 10am, your three-year-old will tell you you’re the best mammy in the universe. At 10.02am, he will announce you as a ‘bad guy’ because you have cut his sandwich into the wrong shape (you foolishly thought you’d get fancy with triangles to mix things up a bit — oh, how you underestimated the pedanticism of a three-year-old).

Those seeking election and those seeking strawberry yoghurt will promise you things they can’t deliver on, such as affordable childcare and going to bed at a reasonable hour despite the fact that it’s still bright outside. We know they won’t follow through on these promises. They’ve broken our trust before, and they rarely see things through, but still, we say over and over again, this time it will be different.

Unfortunately for us and fortunately for them, the well of collective hope runs deep, and they capitalise on our pathetic need to dream of a better future, whether it be a future that consists of better public transport or a future that consists of simply getting to watch Prime Time in peace.

I think it’s safe enough to make the sweeping generalisation that most politicians are happy to do business. Not in the old school, shoeboxes full of cash kind of way, but even something as clear as dangling your vote under their noses is enough to have your local representative chomping at the bit and ready to promise you the world.

It’s a similar situation with kids, and most days, I don’t even mind lowering myself to the most blatant coercion by promising cartoons in exchange for a consumed dinner. But who cares? This is a nation built on bribery and leg-ups for favours. ‘Quid pro quo’ is the Latin phrase you see etched into stonework as you enter Dáil Éireann. It loosely translates as ‘You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’, the mantra which has seen Ireland elevate nepotism to a fine art.

Whether it’s a TD or a toddler, they’re such flip-floppers they make Havanas look like supportive footwear. Today, they love their colleague and peer, Andrew of the curly hair and red jacket. Tomorrow, they hate Andrew, and merely mentioning the name of their former friend and now eternal nemesis will have them seeing red, questioning your loyalty, and ultimately threatening you with excommunication from their golden circle.

Like most who seek a life in public service, toddlers and councillors demonstrate the same capacity to talk ad nauseam and say nothing. They are the kings and queens of deflection, bamboozling their interrogators with inconsequential details and equally gargantuan narrative gaps. They leave those who ask the questions —‘Where did you put mammy’s make-up bag?’ and ‘How do we solve the housing crisis?’— just as confused, having had to listen to their meandering road-to-nowhere digressions as they were to start with.

Don’t get me wrong, I love listening to my firstborn as he regales me with stories from school, but last week I nodded along to a 40-minute conversation involving his two best friends and still I have not an iota as to what happened between them. All I know is it involved a sticker, a digger, and some kind of monster. Saving that, I’m all out of info.

Perhaps the most striking similar personality trait that politicians and toddlers possess is their ability to drop you at the drop of a hat when a more attractive alliance materialises. So often, my mammy hugs have been cut short by the arrival of an adored family member or a five-year-old he met once in the playground back in 2021. In either case, I will be ditched quicker than you can say ‘But I thought you said I was your favourite?’ in a frantic scramble, I can liken only to a cabinet reshuffle following a surprise election result.

Still, your former bestie and political colleague will look you in the eye and insist you are their number one. Their words are belied by the fact that, as they say this, they are perpetually scanning the playground for a more advantageous comrade.

The big difference between three-year-olds and politicians is that toddlers are smarter.

They know where their bread is buttered and who is doing the buttering. For that reason, they never truly turn their backs on the hand that feeds them. They have an endless capacity for kindness if you give them a minute. They teach us what it means to be caring. Perhaps some politicians could take note.