H has turned into mini-me.
She has a way with her words. She talks to me in a certain way. She wiggles one shoulder. She’ll say something in a dismissive manner.
I’m seeing myself every time.
One night she was playing up a little, so I came upstairs for a nosey.
“GO AWAY!” shouted Shaun, in a slightly irritated manner. Just like H does.
See, everything we do is copied and re-broadcast the way a three-year old sees it. It’s funny and slightly scary too.
On the plus side she now says ‘SPongebob’ rather than ‘SQUongebob’ – but even that is kind of scary. She’s watching OUR cartoons. Way back when Shaun and I got married I joked about when we had children, the child would be sat reading, telling mummy and daddy to stop watching them. It’s only a matter of time before we’ll be getting the Powerpuff Girls DVDs out. She loves the Rugrats, even though I remember weekend mornings living in Bristol, watching them on tv and finding them some kind of weird trippy cartoon about children (which I don’t see now, or maybe we’re watching modern Rugrats?).
It’s all quite bizarre. In a good way.