Don’t Touch The Duck

Any minute now and I’ll start laughing maniacally

About 1000 years ago, not long after elec-trickery was invented and GPs stopped applying leeches, I was a navigator. Few people would ever guess my past, as nowadays I struggle to navigate my way out a wet paper bag. I complain that the scale of maps on the ground are far too small, but I’m usually treated to a knowing wink and a pat on the (fluffy) head. Midi Minx is aware of all this, and last week declared: “Mummy: a long, long, long time ago you used to be an alligator”. I think her version may unwittingly be more accurate.

Mini’s vocabulary is growing, and new words are coming thick and fast. She still occasionally says just the first syllable of words (eg ‘ope’ for open) which is funny when she mixes them with normal words: “Mama ope this me, please!” (Mummy open this for me, please). I do want to record examples o her sentences like this: they may bore other readers, but I really enjoy looking back a few months or years down the line. I think I’ll especially enjoy reminiscing in 14 more years or so, when her speech may well be solely grunts. Anyway, tonight I explained to her that I couldn’t reach the toy box that had her duck in it, and that Daddy would get it later. She opened her big blue eyes wide, and came out with a torrent: “Mama reach duck-duck not. Dada on bike; Dada reach after. Up high. Duck-duck quack! Cheep-quack-quack! Wo duck! Mine! My duck!”*

* Translation:

Mummy can’t reach the duck. Daddy’s out on his bike just now; he’ll fetch it for me later. It’s up on the wardrobe. Ducks say quack-quack, and sometimes ‘cheep’. It’s Mini’s duck; it belongs to me. Oh yes. Mine, mine, mine. All mine. You touch it and you’re dead meat. I’m deadly serious, Parent. I Have Spoken!

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