I tiptoed into the girls’ rooms last night to check on them before I went to bed. As usual I had to touch Mini Minx to check she was still alive (the child makes no noise when she breathes at all), unload around a hundredweight of stuffed toys from Maxi Minx’s bed and unfurl Midi’s death-grip on her wooden chisel and hammer.
Unusually, Maxi’s pillow looked a bit lumpy. I found some books and a plastic teapot lid under it. Still lumpy. Tissues, bobbles, hairclips. Still lumpy. A mini football. Eh…?!
Saturday mornings can sometimes be wonderful – Mini woke up and sang to her stuffed giraffe for a bit instead of yelling to be set free; Maxi waddled in for a cuddle and a chat about her dreams (surreal. Don’t ask); Midi staggered in 5 minutes later, hair like Doc Emmett Brown, eyes like Bambi, safe under her doll’s pram’s pink umbrella.
Midi has obviously had a bit of a speech upgrade this past fortnight at the new nursery. It’s still a bit ‘underwater’, but her vocabulary and the complexity of her sentences have increased enormously. But she’s still my original little Midi: she prefers her dinners “all smudged up” and she loves me “olla-waya-moo-nan-back. Lots. And lots. Can I have a biscuit now, please?”