At some point (around Triton's destruction of Ariel's collection, iirc. Not that I was watching avidly or anything), she got bored and wandered off. A few minutes later, she appeared again in front of the TV, holding a plastic matching shape from one of her toys, a green star with Donald Duck on it, and started waving it at me and then the TV.
This is a surrogate for the tv remote, which she grudgingly concedes she's not allowed. The Duck is her new favourite - waving it in front of my line of vision is an indication I should put Donald on. No alternatives are acceptable.
It's hard getting used to having a tiny person who understands what's going on and knows what she wants. We were out for a walk a few afternoons back, wondering what to do after eating lunch. "I bet she'd like some carrot cake somewhere," I said to V, on my way to suggesting fika somewhere later on.
"Car ca'?" said F immediately, perking up and then throwing a massive tantrum because we then walked past a cafe she knows sells it instead of taking her in.
Being raised bilingual has this disadvantage, that we won't have a secret language. My parents used French until we started secondary school. F doesn't speak French. Nor does V. And I'm not sure what I can do to that language counts as speech, exactly. We can spell things out, I guess, but that won't last forever. I mean, it took our old labrador Rocket about two weeks to work out what W-A-L-K meant, and he was thick as a post. Adorable too, but even so.
She still doesn't speak much, mostly using single words and pointing. Or clinging to whatever surface is available if she doesn't agree with whatever course of action you've just suggested. Trying to prise a 12.6 kg baby from your facial hair in an attempt to put her on the changing table is increasingly quite a feat. She can virtually pull a headstand in midair to avoid being put on the floor. It's like trying to push repelling magnets together.
Her newest control method for parents is to grab your finger and then put it on what she wants. Particularly on the iPad, where even though she knows how to do a jigsaw puzzle by dragging and dropping pieces, she knows it's faster if you do it for her.
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I dreamt of dusting last night. I fear for my mental health, the war on housework is taking a toll. And I would take lakes of burning fire and demonic hayforks over matching socks. In fact, a classical hell holds no sway with me. An infinite pile of near-identical once-black socks, that would get the old fear of death going. There's probably a pun about emperilling your mortal sole in it for those with a penchant for such things.
Ah well. You should always follow your dreams, I suppose. Back to work for me.
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More Recent Frejish: -
Murmur - put the The Little Mermaid on, Daddy
Pra' - I will now consume your expensive restaurant prawns, Mummy
Mor peeth - More please, although you only get the 'peeth' by prompting and witholding at the moment
Gum - Strawberries, hence, I like this food. Short for Jordgubbar, I think. Not to be confused with
Gom - Gollum
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