This morning, Dexter and I went to a friend's house for a play date. Hannah is a lovely mummy friend whom I was fortunate enough to meet through NCT classes. She is mummy to the delicious Lady Lottie, a clever little sausage.
I've not seen them for ages - Hannah is a fellow teacher- lady, working mummy. In the months I haven't seen them, Lottie (slightly younger than Dexter), seems to have become a four year old.
Upon arrival, Dexter took about fifteen minutes to unpeel himself from my legs and play with some blocks; Lottie roamed around using lots of different words and basically doing proper chatting. She even referred to Dexter by his name, albeit in a sort of South African accent.
I know I shouldn't compare, but my boy's language acquisition has, as of yet, still not kicked in. He has nothing beyond 'Mama' and 'Dada', and even they aren't really directed at us. I'm not sure at what point my concern is supposed to translate into seeking advice or guidance, or whether I just let him get to it in his own time.
Verbal limitations aside, we had a lovely time, and Dexter was particularly partial to the baked eggs Hannah had prepared for his lunch. I will not dwell on the fact that Lottie ate her eggs with a fork, Dexter with his hands.
One thing the little dots do have in common is their ability to sleep, which they've shared from a young age. Lottie was in bed as we left and the boy snoozed the afternoon away at home. I'm sticking to my mother's theory that 'they come on in their sleep'. I'm sure I've mentioned this before; it's obviously a mantra I'm clinging to. And if I'm completely honest, sleep wins out over everything for me anyway.