Tuesday 11 September 2012


It’s been a big week in the world of the King (actually a big week all around, with Andy Murray finally winning a Grand Slam. Gooooo Murray. Sorry, Mommy digresses). As anyone will know with a growing toddler, once they hit two years old it’s full systems go in terms of development, talking, climbing, dismantling…dating, driving, running a hedge fund. I kid; the King is not yet dating officially, but he did give us a lift to the cinema the other night and ran two stop lights.

At the moment the King has turned into a human sponge. Words fly out of his mouth at an alarming rate, with new words appearing every day. The clarity is also fast improving, but dump truck still sounds like dumbf*ck and the words outside and sleeping make him sound like Sean Connery with a drooling problem (outshide…shleeping). I of course think these speech impediments are part of the King’s inherent charm. But the best part is teaching the King phrases and then getting him to repeat them like a performing monkey – as parents we have to do our best to amuse ourselves. At the moment the King is obsessed with saying 'thank you' and 'he’s sorry.' Yes I'm ridiculously proud. Although he thinks it’s a fun game to hit me and then say his sorry. (I suppose in his linear world a bad action must be followed by a good one). Or he just walks around the house saying sorry over and over like Woody Allen after wronging the universe (or Mia Farrow, although something tells me he was anything but sorry). I’m gathering that for the King it’s the sound of the word, sorry, and not neurosis or profound guilt that’s driving him. One hopes anyway.  His other new phrase that he likes to pony out is ‘I love you.’ Or ‘Ri Muv U;’ But hell, most men can’t even say it, so I commend him for any attempt. 

The other benchmark we have hit is the King’s preoccupation with the potty and telling us whatever comes out of him as its happening…this preoccupation extends of course to us, the neighbors, the bus driver etc. He’s aware of how it works and he definitely wants to tell you about it. So, like any parent, I whipped out a pull-up (his are pink with Cinderella on them; he’s a very secure man) and the King’s new potty hoping to coax him to give it a whirl; you feel like a cheerleading idiot as you try to make it look like the most fun activity since…well, in his case, eating crackers. [Although, all this excitement aside, the overall concept of potty training still fills me with absolute dread – I have OCD. You do the math]. 

Anyway, the other day, the King looked at me and said ‘poo poo’ and I excitedly asked him if he wanted to sit on the potty. He agreed, and we brought it into the living room (it’s not ideal, but if the kid wants to sit on the potty on Mars, I will try to make it happen) and he sat there like a typical man reading a book, smiling at me. Suddenly, to his and my utter shock, out came a number two, and by the look on his face, he certainly was not expecting it. Suddenly he shot up, looked down, screamed and ran out of the room. I of course was hollering with excitement to my husband whilst simultaneously telling him to grab the baby wipes STAT and catch the King who was running down the hallway. 

Unfortunately since then, the potty isn’t the source of fun it once was for the King. I’m hoping that his fear passes, and Sean Connery (aka) can return to the throne and get back to business. Parenting. Never a dull day, I assure you Moneypenny. 

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