Here’s talkin’ to you, kid

ice creamIn the car on the way home from Whitstable last weekend, you asked me to take off your wellies, and then your blue socks. There was some blue fluff on your hot little feet, which I started to brush off.

‘No mummy!’ you exclaimed. ‘It’s the blue fluff’s home!’ I paused, taking in what you were saying, and you continued ‘The blue fluff won’t have a home!’

Then I reached for my phone, to make a note. Over the last few weeks, I have spent a lot of time thinking ‘Write that down!’ and making a long list, because the things you are coming out with I don’t want to forget.

And later on, I thought about how full of wonder and innocence and delight you are; that you can think of your feet as a home to sock fluff is pure three-year-old magic. I can’t keep track of all the brilliant/funny/irrational/lovely things you say, but I can make a start here.

It’s important to stand your ground once you’ve decided to commit to something, especially something you feel passionate about. Be sure to see it through. Like that time a couple of weeks ago when we walked into the dining room and I turned on the light. Well, that was your job, wasn’t it? As you made clear by screaming ‘‘I want to turn on the light I WANT TO TURN ON THE LIIIIIIIIIIGHT!’ You certainly made your feelings known, same applies to those recent cries of:

‘Mummy stop looking at me!’
‘Daddy don’t talk to me!’
‘Noooo I don’t want food! Yoghurt isn’t food it’s special!’
‘I don’t like you anymore Mummy/Daddy. You are not my friend!’
‘I don’t LIKE abiblobi (ravioli) it’s poo poo!’
‘My name is NOT Zachary!’

In some cases, logic need not apply. If you say it loud enough, you’ll still be heard.

You ask some awesome questions. You haven’t so far been through the constant ‘Why Why Why?’ phase, but one of my favourite recent questions was ‘Why is Up sad mummy? I feel sad when Up cries.’ We were watching Pixar’s Up together, you thought Mr Frederickson was called ‘Up.’ I had a moment and then wrote it down. You followed it with ‘But we are happy aren’t we mummy? I want everyone to be happy.’ Your heart is so big; I wish you could only ever know happiness and not what a horrible place the world can be.

Ahh, joy, we’ve reached the stage where you love to shout, loudly in ideal places like the supermarket or a café: ‘MUMMY’S GOT A WINKY!’ or ‘MUMMY YOU ARE POO-POO! YOUR HAIR IS POO-POO MUMMY!’
And I know, I know the more I tell you not to, the more fun it is, so I must try and style it out better. Possibly by pretending I’ve never seen you before in my life. This morning you told me I look like a potato, which is infinitely preferable to all this talk of poo at the top of your voice. But you are three, and I’m sure it’s going to get worse before it stops.

Every now and again you’ll catch me completely off guard, by saying ‘I love you’ before I’ve said it first. You’ll ask for a cuddle or for us to just sit with you, you say ‘Mummy I need you’ or ‘Daddy is so kind isn’t he?’ and it makes us catch each other’s eye and grin like fools. You love your trains and dinosaurs and declare all of them your favourites, and will run around in small circles exclaiming ‘I’m so excited!’ at the prospect of playing with them. You sing the Thomas theme song and ‘read’ stories to us, you do dinosaur ‘ROARS!’ and tell me that when I grow up to be a big boy like you, I can use toothpaste too (?). It feels like we spent so long waiting to hear your voice and be able to talk with you, not at you. And now it’s here and it, like you, is magic.

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