Chippie was afforded a few hours of play with one of his bestest friends from childcare.
He’s no longer attending the centre, so it’s a special day.
I even stay and have adult conversation with friend’s mother and relatively new baby sister.
She’s delightful (the mum, I mean) and lovely to chat to.
Except she is slim, glamorous, and verging on the edge of ‘proper’. In some ways, the complete opposite of me, but in many, many others we are very similar. I love her company.
She is also the mother of two; a four year old boy and a month’s old girl. She has not yet experienced The Influence of Older Siblings, and is, it seems, just approaching the I Can Use The Word Poo To Replace Most Words In Any Given Sentence Stage.
For she informs me “He’s just … well, he’s coming home with a few words that all seem to be originating from the very same source. I’m not sure if you’re experiencing that yourself?”
“Erm … ” I reply, as I put on a concerned yet interested face.
She names the child before asking if I have heard similar words from Chippie.
“Um …” I say. Because, well, really there are lots of words he says and, to be honest, pinpointing the responsible party is a little tricky.
“Erm, what sort of words?” I venture, unsure of what to say, really.
The two little boys wander over at this point, and the conversation proceeds with much caution.
“Oh,” she says, waving her well manicured hand.
“You know, things like ‘p-o-o’ and ‘f-a-r-t’ and b-u-m,” she tells me, tactfully spelling them out so the Little Boys don’t twig and start a barrage of potty talk.
“Like BUM!” yells Chippie.
I snorted mint slice out my nose and into my Earl Grey tea and did my best to avoid eye contact with her.
She, on the other hand, had covered her face with her smallish baby in order to stifle her own laugh.
“Didn’t I tell you he was gifted?” I ask. “Spelling at four. Genius!”