Topics of conversation

It's 8.30am. So far today the boy and I have discussed:

• The fact that the bumpy bits on his hands are called knuckles, which are a type of joint, and that we need them so we can move our fingers.
• The relative states of happiness of baby fly and daddy fly, whose sadness can be assuaged only by being stuffed in my dressing gown pocket for a while then removed and fed multigrain hoops.
• The crescent-moon like shape of broken multigrain hoops (own-brand, people, don't tell me off). Who'd have thought he knew the word 'crescent' even if he does pronounce it like it begins with a 'p'?
• The technical specifications of the cast of Chuggington, including wipers, horns, lights, colours, shininess and top speeds.
• What colour we should paint our front door. The boy chose blue, which is good because that's what I already decided and I've bought the paint.
• The difference between a 2D picture of a circle and a 3D wooden sphere.
• Many other topics, including snails, buses, Baa Baa Black Sheep, missing mummy and daddy when they go to work, what we might sing at Jo Jingles, mummy's need for tea, daffodils, wallpaper, fish, sewing machines, the Insey Winsey Spider game and the fluffiness of dressing gowns.

Growing vocabulary

Little man (no, mummy, B a big boy) is becoming quite a chatterbox, having made us wait months and months for his first proper words. He now accosts strangers in the street: 'Man! Man! There's a nest / duck / stick / boat / balloon etc.' A couple of his latest achievements are the ability to say 'Mary Whitehouse' (don't ask) and 'pepperoni'. He is even starting to have a stab at singing nursery rhymes, particularly Baa Baa Black Sheep and Twinkle Twinkle. This goes along with him demanding songs at bedtime now, after stories but before final night-night hugs. Sometimes he can't get his words out as fast as his brain is working and stammers while you wait with an expectant, encouraging look on your face. It's probably not the done thing to laugh at him at this point. Sometimes he says the wrong word with comic effect and it's tempting not to tell him otherwise, particularly when he's pointing out that mummy has 'big burps' and he has 'baby burps'. Or when he wants to be carried down the stairs and says: 'You carrot me.' Snigger.

In other news, I have today paid a deposit on a new car. Well, new to me, if you know what I mean. A Micra that I will be able to park outside my house with much greater ease and which will hopefully guzzle a lot less fuel. The dealership are giving me £400 for my old car. For an eleven-year-old Mondeo with 116,000 miles on the clock and a hole in the bumper. Result. I have also filed my tax return. And they say they owe me money. I have no idea why, but I'm not going to quibble.

Running commentary

Little man's constant questioning has shifted recently, from 'whassat?' to 'whadooween?', which translates as 'what are you doing?' I even sometimes get an accurate answer from him if I ask him the same question back. But sometimes he asks the question on repeat so that what I'm doing is exactly the same as it was the last time he asked. And the time before that.

He is talking so much more. I'm currently getting a commentary on In the Night Garden. 'In there', 'a house', 'nin nonk', 'gone', 'a blue'...which translates as the Pontypines and Wottingers are getting in the carriage of the Ninky Nonk that looks like a house. The Ninky Nonk goes off screen and the blue Ha Hoo appears. Sometimes the constant commentary and questioning becomes a little wearing. Just a little. I, of course, have the infinite patience to deal with it without ever adopting a tone of exasperation or snapping at him. Of course.

He does indeed have full-scale, finger pointing, 'No' shouting arguments between his left hand and his right hand. There's obviously a lot going on in his imagination. He sometimes plays by himself for what feels like quite some time, it's probably about twenty minutes, and he's constantly chattering to himself or to his toys.

His obsession with all motorised transportation continues. Today he got quite upset because he couldn't make the baby sign for plane, despite the fact that he can say 'plane' quite clearly. And does so several dozen times a day as we live on a flight path. Every time he eats an oatcake or ricecake he nibbles it until, to him, it resembles a boat, which he then waves around proudly proclaiming that fact. He also has other amusing obsessions, such as collecting the seeds of any kind of tree he finds. I now have to remember to check his trouser pockets before they go in the wash.

I have to make sure his father and I confer about what he's up to. Sometimes little man will say something that is a mystery to me until I ask his dad and it turns out it's to do with a film they've watched or somewhere they've been. I think the pair of them watch a lot of Disney Pixar. I suppose it saves me having to.

The other day I also had to check with his father (who's a civil engineer) that the metal inside reinforced concrete is steel. Little man had asked what it was as there's a picture in his Big Dig book. I think I'm going to have to read up properly about the workings of steam engines. Internal combustion is bound to be on the cards at some point. A trip to the Museum of Science and Industry in Manchester is probably in order. All I can say is, it's a good job I'm an all-round genius.

Choo choooooo!

I finally took little man on the promised train ride to Liverpool. We didn't really need to go to Liverpool but it was that or Crewe. I think I'll take him to Crewe when he's less likely to leap onto the rails. Anyway, he thought it was fantastic. There was even a freight train waiting at Runcorn station when we got there. He was also mightily pleased with the two lambananas on the platform. Of course, I forgot to take my camera.

Whilst in the metropolis, apart from riding around in the Yamo, he managed to sit on a frog, sip a hot chocolate and play a game of musical chairs with mummy. In the cafe, he managed to hide behind my back so the assistant thought I was talking to myself. Oh well. On the train home he played peekaboo with the somewhat bemused young man sitting behind us, who gamely played along.

The recent sunshine has got me thinking about camping. I'm planning some Thursday to Saturday trips to fit around work. I think one will have to be to Ravenglass in Cumbria so we can go on the little steam train known as Lal Ratty. Now I just need to get my tent pole fixed after putting it off for almost a year.