At the age of 2/3 it’s great fun having children.
You never ever realise it at the time of course, because you’re too tired/frustrated/busy trying to keep your head above water.
But trust me, you look back and think “that was so brilliant when they were always saying something totally outrageous, or breaking into song as you walk round Poundland or getting their words all muddled up.”
I do feel I missed an awful lot of the joy Daniel was dishing out when he was a toddler and so I am determined not to do the same with Mia.
And trust me, she can notch the joy quota up to the max when she wants.
At the supermarket she gets other shoppers’ attention by shouting “lady, hey lady!” from her trolley seat and then when she gets them to look, she points at me and declares: “that’s my mummy” like I’m the most important person in Tesco and everyone, EVERYONE had better have a look at this VIP in her stained tracksuit bottoms and hair that hasn’t been washed for a week.
Embarassing right? Not any more. I mean, how adorable is that? My little girl wants to introduce her mum to everyone.
I should be chuffed to bits.
OK, so I look like I didn’t bother to actually look at what I pulled out the wardrobe that morning, but these people don’t know me and let’s face it, I’m never shopping in this branch again, so what does it matter?
Her latest batch of new words are great too:
Pyjamas (difficult enough for her daddy when he’s downed a glass of the red stuff or two) have now become jamyarmas which I think is much nicer,.
Yoghurt has become loglurt
Joseph is Jofish
Doctor Who is Doctor Do
And music is musmic.
And she absolutely cannot handle my friend Alison’s name. She been rechristened Asilon – with the emphasis on the ass unfortunately.