Dot writes: Hugh calls bottoms “bottons”, as in “You got a big botton.” He was pointing out mine last night at bedtime. He also identified my breasts – “breasts, baby milk, cow moooooo” – but when I pointed to my tummy and asked him what that was he said “funny noise”. He thinks farts are hilarious and always announces loudly when he (or, better, someone else) has done one. This morning he accompanied me to the bathroom and said “Well done, Mummy, you doing a wee.” Then he burst into tears because I flushed the loo myself before he had a chance.
This morning saw a further notable success in the potty department. After our debacle with the flush Hugh announced he wanted to do a wee – actually that he had done a wee, but we interpreted this to mean he was interested in the topic and asked if he wanted us to take off his nappy. “Yes, nappy off.” He then tried to wee standing up on a step by the toilet, but nothing was happening. “I need my potty.” So we took him downstairs, where he pulled down his own pyjamas, sat on his potty and successfully did his wee. All by himself and of his own accord. A week ago this would have been inconceivable; we were absolutely delighted.
Oh, the pleasures of parenthood.
Frank, by the way, also likes to accompany me to the bathroom and peer down the toilet. To think that when I was at primary school I used to avoid going to the loo for the whole day because there were no locks on the doors and I didn’t want anybody to come in…