The Cerebral Mum

I’m not sure if I let you all know how Caspar’s hearing test went after his surgery and I’m too tired to check at the moment, but he can now hear properly. At his age, they only test the normal vocal range but that is the most important part. Anything else will just be what it is.

What I can tell you is that he knows words. Quite a few words.

He has known nose for a good while. It took me some time to realise this as he points to noses a lot and at night when I put him to bed I always say, Beep Beep. Have a good sleep. With appropriate actions. I know this is tragic but I did it once and he liked it. He is the final arbiter of my taste.

(Except when the most interesting thing on TV is an ad for the latest obnoxious ringtone. I have to draw the line somewhere.)

Anyway, after exhaustive testing, he knows nose.

The second word I learnt that he had learned was a little out of left-field: Buddha.

That’s what I said. Buddha.

I have a large wooden carving on my mantelpiece that he likes to be held up to (to poke its nose!) and whenever he is upset or crying, taking him to see Buddha works like a charm. No, Hush, hush, there, there…, just, Let’s go and see Buddha, and everything is roses again. If you have a very unhappy baby and no hair left, I highly recommend investing in the tubby philosopher.

Cas is also quite comfortable with ears, especially Buddha’s ears, but doesn’t yet find other facial features particularly worthy of his interest.

He has become au fait with toad and fish and frog and can confidently point to cats and dogs in real life as well as picture books.

He knows which family portrait in the hallway is Oma.

(He might know which one is Mummy as well but that could just be wishful thinking.)

I will not recount all the words he knows (yes, no, thank-you, good and more are not thrilling to anyone but me) but I will skite about the most impressive phrase to date.

Reading has been something of a struggle lately. He has become more interested in turning pages than listening to words. He has been trying to work out this miraculous process for some time but it has eluded him. With a little help from Mummy however (consisting of a finger between the current page and the next) he can get the job done. Since he discovered this, I have had to hold all books out of reach to avoid his impatient and somewhat destructive fingers.

Today I discovered that simply saying, Turn the page, solves this problem much in the same way Tinkerbell’s tinkle did when I was listening to Disney stories on vinyl.

Tomorrow, he will be 11 months old. He knows what Turn the page means. I am doing something right.

Then again, he knows that if he follows me when I say, Pee pee pee pee peeeee… he’ll be allowed to pull the toilet roll.