Furthermore, the change of scenery seems to have accelerated - or at least highlighted - her development. It was only shortly before we went that she had finally mastered walking. But tottering around our dining room table is a far cry from the determined sprints she repeatedly made towards the open staircase in our delightful holiday retreat. Or, conversely, from serene strolls in the Cornish countryside to which she took with mature and eager aplomb last week. I'm assuming that an aplomb can be eager. And mature.
Her conversation seems significantly closer to taking place in English now. She is still to learn many real words, but has at least redoubled her efforts to invent her own. These efforts now centre around the Two Syllables Game, in which she lists endless pairs of phonetics which are apparently randomly chosen, yet delivered with decisive conviction. "Dada, uh-oh, ahblig, findoo, woodum..." This can go on for ages, and is surprisingly entertaining. Especially when her arbitrary stylings coincide with my schoolboy sense of humour, as they did the other day when she declared: "Dick-yes." My wife and I have now taken to using this phrase as often as possible. But not in polite company.
Interestingly, within 24 hours of our return home, another curious development in her speech suddenly took place. She woke up on Monday having decided that "Mama", "Dada" and "Nana" were now to be referred to as "Mummy", "Daddy" and "Nanny." We're all agreed that this is a welcome modification.
It's a truism that changes in a person are more easily noticed by those who see the person less often. This, of course, is why you probably spent your youth being intermittently subjected to confirmation by your grandparents that you had grown. As someone who sees my daughter every day, the changes in her are too discrete to cause me much of a surprise. But I have come to appreciate the delight with which other relatives - who aren't fortunate enough to have quite such frequent access to her - greet her every development.
What I hadn't realised until now was that a change of scenery can have a similar effect. The changes in our daughter over the past week seem all the more pronounced even to us because - although, clearly, we spent the week in her company - we weren't seeing her in her usual environment. So her abilities at walking and talking as demonstrated in our house were separated by a week from those displayed before we left.
Does that make sense? I shouldn't really watch TV while I'm trying to express vague ideas about notions I haven't quite clarified.
