“Nips,” Jack says.
“Huh?” I mumble as I groggily rouse myself out of another Wiggles-induced almost-nap.
“Nips!” Jack shouts.
“Um, nips …?” I sit up straighter, wondering if Lachie and Emma have confused their wiggly after-hours bedroom antics with their Wiggly TV personalities.
“NIPS!” Jack exclaims, beaming, turning to me like he’s the cleverest little boy on the planet and pointing to his baby man-boobs.
“Riiiiiight,” I nod slowly, wondering where the hell he learnt that word. “Yes, those are your nips.”
Jack hasn’t been breastfed since he was three months old, so it wasn’t me who inadvertently let a casual ‘nips’ out of the bag. Turns out Uncle Eoin has been implanting (#casualboobpun) some more interesting parts of the human anatomy into his memory bank. And because Jack’s memory is superhuman, I’m waiting for the day when his daycare calls to say, “So Jack has been trying to touch the teachers’ breasts all day. Please explain.” But that’s what uncles are for, amirite?
Jack knows where his hea, nos, mauf, ahs*, teef, taa and keeks are. He knows that the cock tells the time, and you should close the goor when you go to the bathroom. He loves eating cookees and ceese – almost as much as he loves patting cats and gogs. Cows go ‘moo’, ducks go ‘gak gak’, birds go ‘teet teet’, and elephants go ‘pphhhbhbhbhbhb’. Every single day I am genuinely amazed at this tiny human who encounters the world through virgin eyes, and how he articulates his discoveries.
That memory, though. I made the mistake of pointing out a turtle in a book the other day, then realising it was actually a tortoise. I always get that one wrong. I see a turtle/tortoise and wonder to myself, “Is that a turtle, or is that a tortoise?” I imagine Crush and Squirt from Finding Nemo. They say “turrrrrrtley,” not “torrrrrtoisely”. And that’s my answer. Not even kidding. (Last night Husband put a spanner in the works by suggesting that perhaps the turtle that was actually a tortoise was in fact a terrapin. I gave him The Death Stare. No. I do not have enough mental capacity for terrapins.)
But anyway. So now I’m like, no darling, it’s not a turtle, it’s a tortoise. And Jack’s like, um, no Mummy, you said it was a terter once, it’s now a terter forever. I think I need to brush up on my animals.
* Eyes, not arse