In The Name of The Father

Some confused children; 9.59pm.





Unless the phrase "nanagooie da!" has recently made an entrance into the Oxford English Dictionary, I'm saddened to report that, at the grand old age of one, Lucy has yet to say her first proper word.


Now don't get me wrong, she's brilliant at syllables. A veritable Jedi Master, in fact. From "aah" to "gah", and all the way through to "pah", there's not a far-rhyming couplet she can't make. And, had the mighty James Murray had the foresight to include these in the OED, he would surely have needed at least 5,000 extra pigeon holes to verify the sound provenance of Lucy's utterances.


However, when it comes to stringing them together into something a bit more like recognisable speech, she's, well, not quite there yet. With foolish enthusiasm, I did hope she'd finally managed to break into the world of talking way back in December, when "dada" made it's way into the conversational fray over present opening on Christmas morning: much to the delight of her actual Daddy, who happened to be there at the time.


And, for a while, it seemed that she was "dada" mad - muttering it away to herself at every opportunity, like a drunken 80-year-old on a crack & Werther's Original high. I'd open the curtains to an excited "dada!"; change nappies and remove carrot from my hair to yet more "dada dada!!"; walk for miles through the rain to it; and, excitingly, make lunch, do dinner, wash up and bathe my precious one to it.

Everything, in fact, was accompanied by a delighted high-chorus of da-bloody-da, whilst I quietly grated my eyeballs in the background and gave her an extra hundred lines on the benefits of the far more appealing "mama".


Since then, my digits haven't exactly worn themselves out in the mammoth task of counting how many times she's set sight on the clearly thrilling "dada". However, I am pleased to reveal that she has finally taken the hint and now knows "mama". She's not quite so free and easy with the expression though: "Mama", it seems, really is reserved exclusively for me.

Though, on occasion, the washing machine, the laundry basket, her pram and the settee do get greeted with the "M" word. But clearly when she says that, I know she's just trying to find me there. And I do often hide myself away with the dirty clothes. Honest.