Wakeful

Frankie understands more than he sometimes lets on.  Take this conversation, at 7:15 last night:

Jonathan: So Frankie- daddy's got an idea. How about we get your pyjamas on, have some milk and a story, then go to sleep in our cot?

Frankie: No!

J: OK then,  How about we get your pyjamas on, have some milk and a story, then go to sleep with daddy?'

F: NO!

J: Well, all right.  How about... how about we get your pyjamas on, have some milk and a story, then go to the moon?

F: (looks up quizzically, then falls about in fits of giggles).

The word 'no' features quite prominently in Frankie's vocabulary.  For some reason (possibly he is unsure whether to emulate Charlotte's Merseyside vowels or my Tyneside ones) he pronounces it with a very short 'o', like an angry Spaniard.  He can't say 'yes' yet, in any accent at all- but he does have an armoury of about, ooh, fifty or so words at his disposal. Some are quite straightforward, like 'ball', 'mammy', 'choo-choo' and 'woof-woof', while others sound more surprising coming from the mouth of a two year old, like 'wire', 'pea-soup' (which confused us for some time until we realised it was what the Soup Dragon ladles out to the Clangers)  and 'salmon'.  This last one I am particularly impressed by- I don't think I said 'salmon' until I was at least twenty-three years old, and even then I was a bit self-conscious about it, preferring to say 'cod', or if pushed, 'haddock'.

So, the talking is coming along leaps and bounds there.  The sleeping, not so much.  Frank appears to be what that clever Geordie Miriam Stoppard (she went to school with me Aunty Mary you know) refers to, a touch euphemistically, as a 'wakeful baby'.  Wakeful babies are, apparently, usually intelligent and curious by nature.  True to form then, Frank woke up before dawn, curious to know what was on the telly.  By some hideous oversight, the BBC programmers have ommitted to schedule 'Pingu' or 'Thomas the Tank Engine' at 4:30 on Saturday mornings.  Instead, they were showing Open University, which is a little highbrow for toddlers, even wakeful ones who are unabashed by the concept of salmon.  We read a Noddy story instead, or at least I read a Noddy story while Frank climbed all over me, the couch, and finally the walls.  By 6:30 I was climbing the walls myself. 

At 6:45 Frank fell fast asleep on the couch.  At seven, I put him in the cot, and thought about going back to bed myself- but the events of the last two-and-a-half hours had left me feeling, er, wakeful- so I decided to make a cup of tea, and come and tell you all about them instead.  So I did... and now it's 8:15AM.  The sun has risen over Manchester, and in twelve hours time Frank will be at his Merseyside Granny's house, leaving me and Charlotte free to hit the bars of Liverpool- our first night out with just the two of us (unless you count big occasions like weddings) since he was born. 

As it's been a while since we've been out on the tiles we have done some research on the internet.  Among the delights the 2008 Capital of Culture has to offer, we are currently torn between a swish new Cuban restaurant, apparently frequented by the likes of  Xavi Alonso, Steven Gerrard, and Wayne Rooney's Colleen, and a rough-and-ready back-street Chilean place that Charlotte used to go to in 1989.  One thing is for certain- with that wakeful toddler of ours safely ensconced up the Wirral watching Parkinson with his Granny, we're going to have a ball.  So, if you're out in the Liverpool tonight watch out for us- we will be easy to spot.  We are the thirtysomething couple, blind drunk on two glasses of rioja and fast asleep in a Chilean pudding.  Mark my words- Liverpool is not going to know what has hit it.

Comments

[Tim]

Wake up!!!

[looby]

A real proper night out! There's nothing like it is, and you appreciate it far more as a new parent. I'm sure you'll have had a great time, with no lovely but mithering little'uin in tow. On those rare occasions me and girlf go out together it actually feels quite strange for the first few minutes. We're not used to it. Whatever you decided I hope it was brill.

[abby]

eeeee, mind, I hope that's canned salmon the bairn's on about. He sounds a bit high-born to me. I might have known, what with you hanging out with those southerners, down there in Lancashire!

[Martin Q]

So do you ever go to any FC United matches, Mr Bee? Last Friday's fixture was a very good match, so I hear. I could have offered you accommodation! (For connections from Levenshulme, I'll send you the timetable, which isn't generally published by Northern Rail for some reason...)

[jonathan]

It was odd enough for the first few minutes Looby- especially when everyone else on the bus into town seemed to be either wearing Cowboy costumes, or be dressed like the Liver Birds in 1973. But you can rest assured we recovered to have a splendid night out. Some kind of report may follow....

Abby- don't worry, if the lad as much as hints at an attempt to pronounce 'rollmop herring' or 'grilled sea-bass' before the age of twenty-six, we will be whisking him up north on the first available train, and keeping him there. We've got our names down for a tenth-floor flat in Cruddas Park tower, complete with kitchenette and verandah, just in case, like...

In the meantime in a new linguistic development Frankie has discovered colours... except, everything is blue (or 'bool' as he pronounces it), even things which are quite clearly red, green or pink (like a postbox, a frog, and his nose, respectively...)

And Martin Q good to hear from you... amazingly I was just reading about FC United's trip to Leipzig on the Guardian moments before seeing your comment... I will be keeping a close eye on Platform Two of Levenshulme station for future special excursion services to prestige European friendlies. And here was us on Platform One thinking we were exotic on account of the occasional weekend stopping service to Blackpool North...