Sunday, 16 September 2012

One Way Or Another Our Blondie Ain’t A Toddler Anymore


Toddler Who Must Be Obeyed (3 years and 5 months) isn’t a toddler anymore. This shock development dawned on me just the other day. (Can a shock dawn like a sunrise? Isn’t it more likely to blind like a neon strip in a dark room? My metaphors are as thingy as a you-know-what.)

I mistakenly asked Toddler how she got on at Toddler Group that day only for her to correct me. I don’t go to Togglers any more, Daddy. I’m not a Toggler. I go to Nursery.

And indeed she does. Two and half hours a day, five days a week. Time really is flying by. At this rate I’ll be forking out for her driving lessons any minute now.

Our little blonde bairn seems to be thriving at pre-school, and it is with a huge amount of relief I note she has made some pals. There’s one wee lassie in particular who our Blondie (well, I can’t call her Toddler anymore - do you have a better suggestion?) is literally attached to. Like a limpet. Seriously, we get asked how many sleeps till she sees her next and there are entire chunks of the day lost to speculative conversations about whether this buddy of hers would like to do this, eat that, be here or go there.

I’m sure it’ll settle down before a restraining order is required.

The other sign that the moniker “Toddler” has to go is her sharply quizzical nature. I bet her line of questioning could make Paxman weep.

What happens after today?

Why can’t you put your bike on the bus?

Why is the library closed when we want to use it?

Who says you can’t you take the back off the telly to see what’s inside?

This all sounds like hard work but it’s actually loads of fun. She clearly tries to understand the answers I give her and it’s great to see the cogs whirring round as my responses are digested.

There are also moments of inappropriate enthusiasm that prove hilarious to a tired parent. Today’s cry of “Good bye and good luck!” to the pee she was flushing down the loo brought tears to my eyes, as did the outburst in the wine shop: “This isn’t a juice shop! I don‘t see any juice! Why did you say it was a juice shop?”

I don’t think I’ve ever made such a hurried choice over a bottle of merlot.

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