My toddler, bless his little Thomas the Tank socks, is just a bubbling brook, a torrential torrent of words at the moment.
It took him such a long time to talk ‘properly’,
in a manner that would satisfy my in-laws. He was one of those delightful babbling babies. His “mamambabadada’s” were lyrical, like music. I guess everyone thinks that bout their kid, huh…? Whatever. Lovely old nannas in the shops on pension day would smile and nod and say, in that matronly way that they do, “Just you wait till he starts talking! You’ll never stop him!”
How very right they all were.
In the same manner that he never stops moving, my little Chop also never stops verbalising.
On one dishpan hand, I adore it. It’s just the sweetest thing, being given an insight into the world through the eyes of a little person. After all, I now know what makes the Chop happy- “Trains and the Bump and Nonna and cupcakes and ice cream and TRAFFIC LIGHTS!!”. And who woulda thunk that Whitney Houston’s “Wanna Dance With Somebody” sounds like rainbows? (“Mummy? Rainbow song on? Turn it up?”)
On the other hand (this one stained with fingerpaint), my darling, sweet, verbal little toddler is driving me up the freaking wall.
It’s not the talking. I’m a bit of a talker myself (did you guess that…?) and I love having someone to chat to.
It’s the constant, continual, never ending use of the word “mummy”.
I know, I know. I’m a right proper bitch.
But Sunny Mummy I ain’t. (You probably guessed that too…?)
Allow me to give you an example of what I’m up against here.
Every single sentence begins- and quite often ends- the word “mummy”.
“Mummy, that traffic light over there is….”
At this point, the Chop is generally distracted by something else.
And this is where Mummy serious considers lifting her own ban on drinking and visiting LiquorLand at 11am.
I’m reminding myself, it’s just a phase. I’m reminding myself how cute it is, how much I will miss this when he’s older.
I’m reminding myself, they probably have harsh and appropriate penalties for parents who lock their children in their bedrooms. Even with plentiful food and water available. (I’m joking, people. Joking. I know. I am just so freaking insensitive sometimes.)
But I’m actually starting to wonder which is more fashionable and easier to match with existing ‘mum-drobe’ of jeans, trackie-daks, t-shirts and cardigans..
or, ya know, these…?