At 22 months old, my daughter Fifi is just getting to the age where she is able to hold a semi coherent conversation. She knows what she wants to say, boy does she know, but sometimes the words come out, well a wee bit squiffy.

This morning, whilst I’m in my sick bed suffering from the severest form of mum-flu, the hubster very kindly got Fifi up, dressed her, gave her her morning milk and took her downstairs for breakfast. After five minutes or so I hear the unmistakable sound of a toddler scrambling up the stairs.

“Muuuummy”,

“Yes darling?”,

“Daddy kitchen, Peebee breakfast”,

“Oh, Daddy’s in the kitchen making Phoebe’s breakfast?”

“Yeah”

“Ah, that’s nice. What’s he making?”

“Boobies”

“Boobies?”

“Yeah, boobies in bowl”

“Phoebe you haven’t had boobies for breakfast since you were a baby”.

Then it dawned on me, “Do you mean blueberries?”,

“yeah, boobies”.

Aren’t kids great!