I'm loving the spread of language through the spud's conciousness at the moment. He reminds me of the cartoon Brit Abroad trying to speak to Johnny foreigner... ie, he doesn't really speak my language and so if I don't understand what he wants, he just repeats it louder and louder until he stomps off in a huff making his little 'tch' sound as though I am some sort of moron.
Now that he's cottoning on proper-like to the use of words he no longer just wakes up yelling incoherencies. I bought him a little space shuttle from the Science Museum on Friday and after he went to bed, his Dad broke the tail off it because it was hazardous. The next morning the spud was crest-fallen but my response at the time was to say 'It's not broken, it's fine! See?' It's clear now that for the last 3 days he's been driving himself mad worrying this around and around in his little head as he woke up at 3:30am shouting 'Rocket BROKE Rocket BROKE' endlessly until I broke down and told him 'Daddy broke the rocket' at which point he calmed down immediately and went to sleep with an 'I knew it' sigh. Actually he was saying 'Rocket BATE' but I know what he meant
This morning it was 'Hot Milk Cup! Hot Milk.... cup!' but when I offered him hot milk in a cup he melted down 'NO cup, NO cup, NO cup!!!'. Right then.
Tonight it was 'finger hurt' followed, when he couldn't identify which finger by 'hand hurt' which, after careful prodding turned out to be his wrist, for which he doesn't have a word but for which he does have a proclivity for landing on during particularly rambunctious periods of jumping.
Thankfully, Mummy's kisses are still magic; let's just hope the same can be said for her vocabulary.