Time moves on and so do my grandsons. It was delightful at
Christmas, having fourteen-month-old Phynn and two-and-a-quarter year old LHG
together at their Aunty Carmela’s house. They'd developed so much, even from the
last time they were together, two months earlier.
As I wrote in an earlier blog, Phynn’s parents have had to
lay a thick carpet on top of the terracotta tiles in their living room, due to
his proclivity for launching himself onto the floor from the settee. Now he can
walk properly, his new trick is to climb onto the two beanbags piled up to
prevent him getting behind the settee, and launch himself from those onto the
settee itself. He still has no fear. At Christmas, with a house full (thirteen
at one point), he loved scampering around the chaos, being buffeted by dogs as
tall as him. I’m told that barely two weeks after his first half-dozen steps,
he insisted on walking all the way around a museum and would not be carried.
Mmm, wonder how long the novelty of that will last.
Judging by my experience with LHG, not that long. Although a
good little walker, there are many times when he will scoot in front of you and
stretch his arms up. That means, “Carry me, please.” Despite his galloping
language skills, he doesn’t often express that desire in words. He says an
awful lot of other things though. A car journey is full of pointing and
observations like, “Red bus. Green tractor. Woo woo [Emergency vehicles]. Bridge.”
At the end of the journey there’s the inevitable, “Out. Stuck. Stuck!” at his futile
attempts to undo his car seat straps.
I see him at least twice a week and there are always new
words to be heard. His sentences are also getting longer, with things like, “Where
Pa?”, “There Nonna house,” and, “It rain Nonna car window [it’s raining on
Nonna’s car’s windscreen].” And despite so many items now being declared ‘my…’
(my cup, my woo woo or simply, “My!”), his house still remains, “Mummy house”. When
that phrase goes from being a statement to a sad lament, we know it’s shorthand
for, “I’m tired now and I want to go home to my bed.”
Poor little Phynn got firsthand experience of LHG’s “my”
phase at Christmas. As yet he only gazes in bewilderment as the toy he was enjoying
is removed from his grasp.
I don’t expect it will be long before he learns to grab it
back and without language declare, “No! My!”
