Words

My youngest daughter can talk like a good'un nowadays. She stubbornly refuses to put together more than two words at a time, but I'm confident that this has more to do with her well-developed sense of mischief than with any lack of verbal ability. She takes a cheeky and obvious pleasure from gently winding up her loved ones: smiling exuberantly, for example, as she denies obvious truths, such as her own name, to her sister; enjoying the mild frustration this causes, but sensitive enough to avoid overstepping the mark. Usually.

My benign pride compels me to conclude that it's the same sense of mischief that causes her to refuse our suggestions for three-word sentences.  So "Water!" is yet to advance to "Water please Daddy," but it's because she won't, not because she can't.

Why am I so confident about this? Well, I'm strongly encouraged by the size of her vocabulary. She employs an efficient dual-usage system for some words, as I seem to recall her sister did at the same stage. I think we can all learn something from this. For your pleasure, and/or evidence, here's an enjoyable glossary:

Bubbaiii

Goodbye; goodnight; so long, suckers.

Daddy

Daddy; any man (usually) with glasses and/or only a modest coverage of hair on his/her head.

Disoooooaaaaaaaaaar

Dinosaur; anything with teeth.

Dum-dum

Dummy.

Dummins

Doc McStuffins (Disney character. Not my favourite. Not anyone's favourite, except perhaps for my daughters).

Elloooooooooo

Hello.

Fock

Fox (I know. We're working on it).

Horses

Glasses; horses.

Mine

Any toy or foodstuff that somebody else wants.

More

I'm hungry.

NO!

No; I wish to annoy you at great length, for my own amusement. I can do this all day long, you know.

Nottar

Water.

Paintball

Paintball; pumpernickel (don't ask).

Phone

Phone; anything rectangular which can potentially be held near an ear.

Poopoo

Poo; guffers (an inability to distinguish between these definitions has caused us to waste a large number of nappies)

Scissors

Danger; fun.

Sorry

It may or may not have been an accident and I cannot guarantee that I won't do it again. But I'm really cute.

Tangled

Rapunzel (you'll get this if you've seen it).

This is but a selection of her favourites. There are more whence these came. Every day I am surprised and impressed to discover the rapidly growing number of things for which she already knows the right names. But I had a late night last night and my memory is not at its best.

I'm trying to think of a witty summation to finish with, but I can't find the words.

It's good to talk

They play together now, sometimes. Our younger daughter reaches out to touch the face of her big sister, who has consciously positioned herself so that this is possible. Personally, I don't really see what the object of the game is, but it produces gleeful laughter in both of them so, clearly, I encourage it. To see your children enjoying each others' company is more gratifying than any experience I can recall. Yes, even that one. But in a very different way.

This small but hugely significant development in my daughters' relationship also serves as a handy microcosm for the way in which a family is the sum of its parts. The collective's progress is dependent upon various individual achievements coming together. I concede that all this sounds a little bit communist at best, and pretentious at worst. Allow me to attempt an explanation.

Our youngest is now a whopping eight months old and her communication skills are gradually increasing. She makes more and more distinctive noises, the most common of which is along the lines of "Buhbuhbuhbuhb." Occasionally, this manifests itself as "Duhduhduhduhd," which I am happy to claim as a victory in the 'Whose Name Will She Learn First?' game. Nana won this game with our eldest by ceaselessly repeating "Nana" to her for as long as it took. I watched and learned. I have shamelessly copied Nana's tactics this time around, taking every opportunity to whisper "Daddydaddydaddydaddy" in my youngest's ear, in a manner which - taken out of context - could seem quite sinister. But, as any participant in the 'Whose Name Will She Learn First?' game will tell you, you do what it takes.

Regardless of the relative to whom she is referring, the really important implication of our daughter's verbal advance is that she is learning to make herself heard; to convey her thoughts and feelings, thus participating in the events around her rather than merely observing.

For her part, our elder daughter (rapidly approaching two and-a-half) has made a sudden leap of her own in the communication stakes. She regularly produces whole, coherent sentences. No longer do we need to seize upon every coincidental juxtaposition of two words or more in order to make this claim; our daughter now converses like an adult. But with less cynicism. And the occasional prepositional confusion. You can ask her a question and she will hear it, consider it, and then provide an informative and relevant response. Furthermore, she very often makes quite pertinent enquiries of her own. This is a double-edged sword: for every endearing "Did you have a good day's sleep, Daddy?" there's a frustrating "Is it breakfast chocolate, Daddy?"

On the whole, though, her increased ability to make her feelings known is a welcome sign of burgeoning maturity. This is further evidenced by her consideration of the prospect of sharing with her sister. Until very recently, our youngest could not even think about touching any toy in the house without being told "THAT'S MINE!" by a very possessive sister. The only variations were "THAT'S MUMMY'S!" or "THAT'S DADDY'S!" But our poor baby was never allowed to claim anything as her own. Until now. Her big sister has conceded two principles: firstly that she cannot possibly be using all of the toys at any one time, ergo some are free for the use of others; secondly, that she and her sister could conceivably play with the same thing at the same time, hence the delightful image this afternoon of daughter one entertaining daughter two in the sunny garden with the weird, purple, furry string on a stick thingy, the former spurred on by the encouraging burbling of the latter. Lovely stuff.

I would like to claim a role in this excellent development. However, my own communication skills seem to have regressed, in one involuntary but undeniable way in particular. When addressing my children I seem increasingly compelled to refer to myself in the third person. "Can you hold Daddy's hand?" "Daddy loves you very much." You get the idea. My poor daughters must be concerned that I am not in fact their Daddy, but a mere spokesman for a mysterious father they are yet to meet. I should stress that this is not the case.

I am at a loss to explain this phenomenon, but can only hope that it is one suffered by other parents the world over. Previously I had subscribed to the popular consensus that only arrogant pop stars and footballers fell prey to this affliction. But no.

Daddy does it too.

Get ready

My wife keeps thinking she's about to have a baby. Normally, as a responsible husband, I would be obliged to seek help for a spouse with such an alarming delusion. Except that this is no delusion. I also keep thinking she's about to have a baby. She is about to have a baby. I keep issuing warnings to my boss at work:

"I may have to disappear for four weeks at any moment."

"Yes, yes. Not due for another month though, is it?"

"Well no, but..."

"I shouldn't worry then."

I don't think he believes me. Of course it should and could be another month until labour day. But our first daughter arrived a month early, and my wife is experiencing portents of birth with increasing frequency. Her sleepless nights have been made yet more uncomfortable by the acute backache she suffers at sudden intervals. Her bump is dropping like a stone. A really heavy stone in her womb. There is no delicate way to add that she keeps feeling like she's being poked from within down there. This makes it difficult to resist imagining our next daughter knocking impatiently on the exit door.

Our only plausible reaction to all of these omens is to get ready. The hospital bag has been packed and waiting in the hall for a week or so now. I have taken to illegally keeping my phone on me at work. (On silent, of course.) Today we have reluctantly turned down an invitation to a friend's birthday lunch on the grounds that the venue is more than ten miles from the nearest maternity ward. I have become less prone than usual to taking risks with the volume of petrol in my car. Most dramatically of all: I can at no point drink more than the legal driving limit. Not that this is something I regularly do anyway, but not being allowed to makes me curiously thirsty.

Another addition to our preparation is that we have the grandmothers on call, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to cushion the forthcoming frenzy of child-based activity with generous helpings of love, attention and maternal wisdom. One of their main responsibilities will be to ensure that our first daughter retains an acceptable level of attention throughout the drama to come. I will be the sole birth partner for this birth, as the product of the previous one is kept company by Nana at home.

But it's in the long term that we must continue to make our daughter know how much she is loved, needed and wanted. And she, herself seems alive to this issue already. She has recently become extremely cute, being unprecedentedly forthcoming with the hugs and kisses. Even more impressive, though, is the acceleration in the growth of her vocabulary. She has, in the last couple of days, mastered the words apple, beans, ball, star and circle, all of which she will describe while eating, pointing at or bouncing as appropriate. I'm increasingly convinced that she is familiar with the numbers two and four. Clearly she is an even numbers kind of girl.

She also knows her favourite toys by name now, and will regularly request the company of or converse with Puppy, LaLa, Lola and, most pertinently of all, Baby. This will soon be a very useful word around here.

Holiday

Our daughter has just returned from her first ever holiday. We went too. As did my parents who, incidentally, are her grandparents. And we all had a rather nice time. Far from manifesting our fears over her ability to sit happily in a car for five hours, or to sleep in a strange room three hundred miles from home, our daughter had the time of her life, and was impeccably behaved throughout. Well, near enough.

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.

The aftermath of sneezing

"I just sneezed," exclaimed my wife a couple of days ago, "And I didn't do a wee! Woohoo!"

This, apparently, marked a rare triumph in the existence of a pregnant lady. All but the most fortunate are condemned to endure a small but disappointing leak, which serves as an unfortunate counterweight to the well-documented joy of sneezing.

Ever the opportunistic - but sensitive - chronicler of such affairs, I immediately asked if my wife would mind my relating this event to the interweb. She gave not only her generous permission, but also the suggestion that I include the following advice:

Ladies: always do your pelvic floor exercises.

Thus I discovered the purpose of pelvic floor exercises.

In other, less intimate news, the physiotherapy mooted as the solution to my wife's troublesome pelvis has been rejected, on the advice of her midwife, in favour of a chiropractor. His modus operandum seems to involve frequent but brief appointments, during which he quickly makes everything a little bit more painful than it was. I'm sure he's just playing the long game. It does seem to help with the aftermath of sneezing, at least. My wife is otherwise keeping rather well, and continues to astonish me with the level of productivity she maintains.

Our daughter has been consolidating her abilities at walking and talking. She can now traverse great distances and has begun planning her assault on Everest. She is also more chatty by the day. Happily, approximately 95% of her conversation currently consists of the word "Dada." I shall enjoy it while it lasts. Just a moment ago, she also commemorated my annual shorts-wearing day by delicately and lovingly kissing my knee.

Which was nice for everyone.

My daughter, the grown up lady

Our daughter has suddenly grown up. I thought we'd have to wait until the end of her first term at university (which I calculate, at the current rate of increase, will cost us about £2 million. Just for one term) to notice such a rapid change in her, but no. Maybe she's been inspired by the weather or something.

The big news is that we can now officially classify her as bipedal. It's still early days, and there was no climactic inaugural walking event like they have in the films and the stories. Rather, she started to slip in the odd step here and there, as a subtle addition to her routine of diving recklessly between pieces of furniture. Gradually these steps have become more commonplace, culminating yesterday evening in a nice, leisurely stroll across the room. Of course, I was outside watering the flowers at the time. But my wife has no reason to lie to me about this.

She is also making considerable progress with the other big -alking. Her current favourite pastime is to grab any phone (or remote control) within reach and conduct an imaginary conversation into it. It's still largely gibberish, but each phone call starts with a gleeful "Ey oh!" in much the same manner as I imagine an Outhere Brother - or perhaps an excited teletubby - might answer a call.

But she doesn't need a prop to encourage her to converse. She often bangs on about somebody called Mjubba. An imaginary friend perhaps? She seems to be quite fond of him or her, anyway. I am also told that - when I am expected home from work or anywhere else I may have been - my daughter tends to crane her neck to gain a good view of the front door while saying, "Dadaaaaaa, where aaaaaaare yooooou?" It's a real shame that, by definition, I'll never be there to hear this. But, again, I choose to take my wife's word for it.

Our daughter has also been honing her array of animal noises. Never mind that this honing seems to have involved streamlining the repertoire down to two. In her wonderful world, all mammals grunt like Peppa Pig, and all birds say "uck, uck." The latter also serves as a request for Mummy or Daddy to look at this please. Which is quite convenient when she wants us to look at a bird.

In other very exciting news, my wife had another scan this week. We have scythed our way through a forest of red tape, in order to swich our allegiance from the hospital in which we ended our previous pregnancy, to the one in which we began it. It's further away, but offers my wife the opportunity to be on the same medical trial that she was before, and this trial is very pertinent to her particular medical needs, about which I shall divulge no more. Suffice it to say that, once again, we will be treated to a view of the inside of my wife's womb more frequently than most. Well, most people are never treated to a view of the inside of my wife's womb, but you know what I mean.

Back to the very exciting news: it's probably another girl. Yippee!

Sister act

As I observe and interact with my daughter, I cannot now help but look for indications of how she will fare as a big sister. Our first scan of Child Number Two in Terms of Chronology but Certainly Not Preference is due to take place next week. We may or may not then discover whether our daughter will be the big sister of a little sister or a little brother. Depending upon your attitude towards gender stereotypes you may feel that this is a crucial factor in determining the older sibling role, but there are some generally useful characteristics for which we can already be on the lookout.

Presence

My wife and I are often moved to accuse our daughter of bullying us. Since minute one she has been big for her age, and this size is increasingly attributable to muscle rather than fat. Whilst we do our utmost to be consistent in calmly admonishing bad behaviour and celebrating good behaviour, inevitably our daughter still has an inclination to do things we would rather she did not. In these instances any attempt at gentle restraint usually ends in our daughter causing injury to the restrainer. For example, my effort to prevent her from diving off the edge of our bed this morning was successful, but only at the cost of a bitten leg for me. And don't get me started on the tugs of war over the TV remote.

How does all of this relate to her potential as a big sister? Well, I envisage that this physical and psychological relentlessness will help her to fulfill the protective older sibling role more traditionally taken on by a big brother. Our new addition will never have a big brother, so I am grateful for the prospect of our daughter transcending the stereotype in this manner, for there is no messing with her, and surely never will be. The very best protagonists in this role achieve results through their potential for action alone. In football, this quality is known amongst top defenders as presence.

Independent Responsibility

This morning, when my wife retrieved our daughter from her bedroom, she found the little lady stood in her cot, turning her bedroom light on and off, having somehow removed herself from her sleeping bag (which we use - as is practical as well as fashionable - in lieu of a duvet for her). She had also cleared her cot of all toys. In short, our daughter had got herself up. Admittedly we still had to brush her teeth, but I was much older than one year before I started doing that voluntarily.

I choose to see this behaviour as encouraging evidence of our daughter's responsible nature. As such I confidently look forward to the day when she relieves my wife and I of parental responsibilities, offering to change all of her brother or sister's nappies and clean up after their meals. This will be nice.

Entertainment

Crucial to a good relationship between our daughter and her sibling is the elder partner's capacity to attract the attention of the younger by being suitably entertaining. My wife and I have never been in any doubt as to the quality of her personality. She makes my wife laugh a lot more than I do, and I'm really funny. Just this week our daughter has added to her considerable repertoire by perfecting the piggy grunt style noise of which she herself was so fond in her early months. She has also already mastered the Amazing Tongue Circus which I fine-tuned, to the unanimous amazement of my friends and acquaintances, at about 17.

I am confident that she will be of interest and inspiration to her protege.

Conversation

The sentences our daughter utters, although apparently still nonsensical to our naive ears, are increasing daily in both frequency and the proportion and variety of consonants they contain. By the time she is a big sister I have no doubt that she will be a walking, talking Oxford English Dictionary, from which her sibling will learn, as common wisdom suggests that younger children do. Having another little person from whom they copy their early habits and activities gives them a head start in learning the best of these, or so goes the theory. Our younger one will be learning from the best.

Abrupt Ending

There are more, but I have to go to work. I can't wait until my children relieve me of that responsibility.

Pride update.

As my daughter's age approaches the eight month mark, the list of her achievements and abilities continues to grow at an impressive rate. She now has four teeth, which seem to have emerged in no particular order. The symmetry I naively expected has failed to transpire, but this has had no effect on the efficient use she makes of her gnashers as she munches away on whichever concoction my wife and I subject them to. Not that much of it touches the sides, mind you, such is the voracity of her appetite. Root vegetables seem to be a common feature of her favourite meals, which I think indicates a certain cultured maturity in her taste.

Decision making seems to play in increasing role in other aspects of her life. Like any child, she is developing a strong sense of what she doesn't like, and how to express this. At high volume. What I find more admirable - and more positive - is her ability to discern what she does like. Holding her in front of her toy collection is all the invitation she needs to make a carefully considered selection. The repetition in her choices suggests that they are good ones. As a man often plagued by indecision I sincerely hope that this quality of my daughter's stays with her.

Her mobility is also improving. Although yet to fully master crawling, she does occasionally struggle forwards on her knees and elbows, even if she doesn't fully understand how she has achieved this. I am confident that, with each such happy accident, she is programming the instinct which will soon take over.

Crawling may, however, soon be rendered unnecessary. Her legs have been capable of supporting her weight since she was about five minutes old. She has now progressed to the point where a slight balance deficit is the only thing between her and independent perambulation. Thus, when you hold her hands, she walks eagerly in whichever direction she's facing, eating up the ground like Usain Bolt. And nothing makes her happier.

Convenient, then, that she has recently mastered a useful means of expressing this happiness: clapping. I say mastered. Maybe that's a bit generous. Picture a weightlifter who has put too much flour on his hands. The thing he or she would do to remedy such a situation is what my daughter does. Frequently. I should clarify that she is yet to attempt weightlifting. Although she is very strong.

We still haven't identified the language, but she can definitely talk. One of her preferred statements is "Dadadadadadadadada". My wife's interpretation of this differs from my own. While she sees it as a meaningless, albeit entertaining phonetic, I see no problem in isolating any two of its syllables to leave the word every father yearns to hear from his child. Yes folks: my daughter calls me Dada. Sometimes I'm even there when she does it.

All of these excellent capabilities, and yet she still almost never sleeps. At least not for any significant length of time. All I want for Christmas is eight solid hours. And my wife, as a light sleeper, and the one with all the milk (and, if I'm honest, our daughter's first choice of nocturnal visitor), suffers hugely more than I do. Just imagine how much amazing stuff our daughter could do after a good night's sleep.

Talking

Here are some things that our daughter has mentioned:

Dagenham

Pete

Manga

Gang

Ge (not a real word. Yet)

Kay

Ugly