As much as it is a joy witnessing your child learning to speak, and it is a joy, it comes at a price. The joy, it seems, is not entirely unmitigated. Joy and yikes! come in almost equal measure in fact.
In particular there has been much joy at the occasional use of ‘please’ and ‘yanks’ (thanks) and yikes! when they are used against me.
For example, how could I ignore this plea from Bibsey after lights out the other night: “Pwee mummy hulpt” That’s “Please Mummy help” for those not fluent in Biblish. Of course Mummy swoops in to hulpt having cast her laptop and glass of cava (now in grown up glass, rather than yogurt pot, thanks to the lovely @chinketta and her fiendishly clever Christmas gifting) in order to remain by the bedside hulpting until sleep finally comes.
Other phrases in our tyrannical toddler’s arsenal that let us know that we are well and truly under the thumb include:
“No like it” a common response to some snack or other that I have lovingly prepared at her own very specific request. Often followed by:
“Stawberry. Stawberry. STAWBERRY!” Or, if we are in the post office, for this is where she first sampled the delights of edible Christmas decorations: “Chocolate MOUSE!”
“Wet. Cold.” another kind of ‘Bibsey that cried wolf tactic’ to draw me back to the bedroom after lights out. If response time is poor this may be accompanied by an in-cot naked protest, which we all know cannot be ignored.
“Push!” which loosely translated means ‘go away’. Nice.
And now, just for me really, so that I don’t forget, here are some other splendid, joyful Bibseyisms:
Bye byne and more recently adios. Mulkt is milk. Morninnn Daddy – that’s if she is not addressing him by his first name. Yog-ot. Moomumber. Shone. Shish. Dorry. And farc. That is: yoghurt, cucumber, phone, fish, sorry, and FART.
Enough said I think*.
What is coming out of the mouths of your babes? Give me the good, the bad and the ugly. I can take it. And what the hell am I going to do when strawberries are out of season here?
*Have had to come back with a same-day addition to this post (there may be more, for posterity you understand) to include another one which I so love to hear. When we meet friends Bibs thinks it is ‘citing. She gets ‘cited bless her mismatched socks.