Through the rosy tint of fatherhood, at least. She has been particularly interested in her alphabet books in the last week or so. And I was getting over-excited about the fact she was pointing to the letter O, just as I'd been patiently doing on demand six hundred times in a row, and saying 'O. O.' Except she was also doing the same for the letters G, Q and D, so maybe not quite there yet.
But yesterday we went over to V's workplace, the logo of which is a large, stylised capital F. And apropos of nothing, F pointed to it and said 'Effffvvvvv' very emphatically.
I give you, therefore, Ladies and Gentlemen, the amazing reading prodigy that is my daughter, and damn you all if I look like the preeningly proud parental idiot I most certainly am.
She also counts, very enthusiastically. She counted the first star in 'Mumin räknor stjärnor' about fifteen times before moving on to the next one this morning. Whichever language 'bam bam bam bam bam' is, I'm not entirely sure it counts.
Ho ho.
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It's been sunny and warm all week. This brings winter-crazed Swedes flocking out of homes and offices to lie over any available pak bench like IKEA-themed Dali clocks. For the first few moments, at least, then they get all organised and picnicky.
This means we've been out in the parks even more than usual. Plikta is my favourite, up in Slottskogen, where, amongst other incredible constructions, there's a gigantic exploded whale to climb around in, tiny working construction diggers, a set of descending waterways with drains and paddlewheels and a fifty-metre-long tunnel slide.
Of these manifold joys, F's favourite is a concrete step. She ascends and descends over and over, screaming at me and slapping me away if I try to help when I'm not wanted, or screaming and slapping at me if I don't help when I am. It comes up to her waist, and it's about three metres away from a set of much lower steps that she can get up and down perfectly easily. No challenge there, I suppose.
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I put fruit in the porridge this morning, blueberries and chopped grapes as I have most mornings this week. For some reason, she took against this particular blend this morning, and I had to wash all the porridge off again before she'd eat it.
I suppose if you're going to be a genius, you're allowed to be particular about some things.
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