Theres the knives and forks and trying to emulate mum and dad at the dinner table, and the look on his face when we stab a fork into some nosh and hand it to him, and then HE is able to feed it to himself. (You'd think we'd given him next weeks tattslotto numbers...)
Theres the using the camera. Or at least picking it up and trying to use it like he's seen others do - errr... then dropping it and breaking it ($60 bucks just for a repair quote - what a rip off!).
Theres the "shapes through the holes" toy that he's worked out is more fun than a mouth full of marbles when you get it in. (Ok, mum and dad have to point out the correct hole, but still...)
And theres the bib. After 8 months of putting a bib on for each meal he's certainly gotten the picture, and indeed for some time has been ripping the bib off to signify he's had enough.
But Tuesday morning, and now with the added benefit of this hands-free walking caper, we found him grabbing a bib, putting it round his own neck, and marching off in search of his brekky chanting
MummmMummmMummmm...Ok, it may sound lame but its amazing to us.
Just as was his singing.
His aunt and uncle had come over for a little family bonding. In this case, via a song for Mike ("five little ducks") which was accompanied
by flipping the pages of a newly mum-aquired book of the same name (and story for that matter).
Whereas Mike would normally rather eat a book than read it, in this case he loved it. (Reading that is - where reading is looosely defined as flipping pages and stabbing at pictures and only occasionally trying to rip the thing to shreds.)
Suddenly, the singing...
"Five little ducks went out one day, over the hills and far away..."
was be answered with a
"Dah dahdah dah dahhh dahhh da da".
Several times.
Yes, we think he actually was trying to follow the tune. Must be the ancient Welsh blood.
Not to mention his joke.
He looked at mum and aunty.
He babbled at them for a few seconds.
Then burst into laughter.
("And now we can all get some sleep!" - apparently, according to Mike,
it was hilarious!)
The only really problem with all this learning is his newfound fascination with the dunny.
And its brush.
Alright, at least he doesnt try to eat it (the brush that is), but he is desperate to plonk his hands in the toot itself. Which on the occasion when dad had left the door open while trying to siphon the python (as is the male way), and hence suddenly found himself with a wee lad (scuse terrible but unavoidable pun) trying desperately to push between dads legs to get a good look at what was going on... was a little beyond the pale.
Still, the progression from bub to thinking and challanging boy is a true wonder to behold.
He'll be reading Trotsky next.
PS. And in a significant step for a modern bub he's been tried on some peanut butter (we have both kinds - smooth and crunchy) and didnt curl up and die.
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