Many moons ago, when my eldest was fifteen months old...
At which time the child had a vocabulary of 125 words. I know, because I Wrote Them Down. Each and every one. I still have the list, somewhere.
This child, who had one hundred and twenty-five words in her spoken vocabulary, also had a sense of humour.
"Haley? Haley, say 'mummy'." Young and earnest mother that I was, I loved to hear this word in particular. Haley knew it. Her little face would crinkle in delight, and she would say,
"No, lovie. Say 'mumma'. You can do it, say 'mumma'." It's a game, we both know it, and I'm playing along.
Big grin. Mummy gets the game! Haley's in control. Chortle. "Dada!"
"You little magoo! Mumma! I know you can say it!"
"DADA! DADADADADADA!!!!" Gales of baby laughter.
I pretend despair. "Oh, all right. I give up." I walk into the next room, and, as I knew it would, from round the corner comes her little voice: