My three year old is trying to wrap her head around the idea that all people, even old people (yes, like me and her Dad) were once little. Babies even. She asks questions about how we fit into our mummy’s tummies, unable to imagine that we were ever anything other than what we are now. ‘Mummy, when you came out of Grandma’s tummy, were you wittle like me?’ We go through the whole family – Daddy, Uncles and Aunts, her sister, her brother who is only just one so I’m not quite sure why she needs to ask about him. Although, to be fair he does currently weigh in at 13.9kg, only 200g less than she does, so I guess he’s not so ‘wittle’. She got a bit grumpy with me one day because she was asking about Grandma and Grandad and refused to believe me when I told her that they had been babies once too. We’ve since resolved that but it took some convincing.
She’s funny because she actually really likes being little herself. She still asks me to carry her like a ‘wittle, wittle baby’ and I have to scoop her up and rock her. I don’t mind, it’s very sweet. She says things like, ‘I’m very good at puzzles even though I am so wittle, aren’t I Mummy?’ And if she needs an excuse for something or is trying to weasel her way out of trouble, she’ll blame being too little. Funny wee thing.
She’s just a little dot, too. Her siblings have always been on the top of the growth curve for height and weight. For a while there, before she started crawling, Miss Three was nearly as wide as she was tall, but since then she’s lengthened out but put on hardly any weight so she’s now a real string bean.
Truth is, I like that she’s still ‘wittle’. She’ll be big enough, soon enough, I know. But in the meantime I’ll enjoy my little bug.