Three or four nights ago at bedtime.
ME: “Oliver Dunkley has a pond in his garden, and on that pond lives Mucky Duck…”
(I’ll cut to the final scene in which the two of them have just had a bath and are settling down to a bedtime story with a cup of milk each – which, incidentally, gets spilled, which is the punchline up to which the whole story has been building…)
HER: What they got there?
ME: Some milk to drink at bedtime.
HER: That’s not mummy milk.
ME: No, it’s cow’s milk.
HER: Don’t they have mummy mo?
ME: No they’re having cow mo. I guess they are too big for mummy mo.
HER: Oh. I’m not too big for mummy mo.
ME: No, you’re not.
Last night, about 1 minute before bedtime, shortly after glugging down a cup of cow’s milk.
HER: Mummy, can I have some more cow mo?
ME: We’re just about to go to bed! You can have some mummy mo upstairs.
HER: I don’t want mummy mo I want cow mo.
ME: You want cow mo instead of mummy mo?
HER: Yes, like Oliver Dunkley.
ME: Are you sure?
HER: Yes, I want cow mo. I don’t want mummy mo.
(I was somewhat dubious, but sure enough after half a cup of warm milk in bed she went to sleep perfectly content… First time *ever* that she has gone without her bedtime mummy mo, unless you count the two or three times when she passed out from sheer exhaustion and had it later after two or three hours sleep.)
This morning, whilst not doing anything in particular. NB we were fully clothed in case the content of the following exchange should leave you with any doubt…
HER: Oh look mummy there’s your booby.
ME: So it is.
HER: Can I have some mo now?
ME: You can have some at bedtime.
HER: And I can have some now as well?
HER: Yes I want some at bedtime please.
ME: Unless you want to have cow’s milk instead like Oliver Dunkley?
HER: No I want mummy mo.