Tom is positively skipping along the road of self determined communication at the moment.
Our days are fragranced by that special toddler music that everybody – from the hard hearted swine to the soft hearted sap – would consider “cute”.
Karen and I have been elevated in Tom’s eyes to food bringing servants who answer to the names of “Mamamamama” and “Dadadadada” respectively (I’m wondering if it’s too late to change Tom’s name to Pavlov). Ben has been christened “Bububububu” which I guess could be a baby-talk version of “Ben” or “brother”.
Obviously, being his dad and having a gushingly sentimental bias I find Tom’s every utterance an absolute delight. Though of course that sense of delight is mediated somewhat when his vocal acrobatics perforate the airways before 6.0am in the morning,
However, there is as yet only one word which I can say, hand on heart, Tom has been actively taught to say...
Tom is a fine mimic. A little story to prove this: we’ve all be coughing so much of late that Tom has taken to producing little pretend coughs at various points in our interactions obviously thinking they are some kind of normal conversational device. Anyway, whilst playing with the fridge magnets the other day (a very serious occupation) one happened to drop out of his hand onto the floor with quite a loud thud. He gave me a look of shock and surprise. Without thinking I responded with a comedic “Oh-oh”.
Tom’s eyes met mine and I swear I could see a look of recognition or cognizance sweep across his little face as his brain interpreted this response and related it to the world around him.
The word “oh-oh” came right back out at me followed by a very large giggle.
Now I’d like to think this was a reference to the dropped magnet and not as I secretly fear a reaction to the bespectacled gentleman that Tom now easily recognizes as his dadadadada...