Dat!
The little boom pointed at a ball on the floor excitedly, stamping from little foot to little foot.
That, is a ball.
I said, a note of tiredness creeping into my voice despite my best efforts.
Both the Good Lady and Little Lady had wondered off to the hairdresser's today leaving me to nurse the little boom and a not so little hangover.
Bloody hair, what was the point of it?
Before she had left, the Good Lady had paused at the front door.
You sure you will be ok? You look a little rough?
She asked with a hawkishly raised eyebrow.
A little rough, I thought you liked em rough? Har har.
Her answering glare told me quite specifically that no, she didn't like em rough. Har har or no har har.
Hey baby cakes, don't fret. How hard can it be to look after my own child!?
I hastily reassured her.
The pair of them trotted off, their fetlocks blowing and their neighs carrying on the breeze behind them.
All was well.
I settled down with the little boom to watch a movie. Some mad shit about ugly gnome-like things with crazy hair.
It was rubbish but he seemed to like it.
After the movie we ate together. I was in the middle of soundly congratulating myself for being SuperDad when he started pointing at things and asking what they were.
Being one and a half and quite the physical little specimen, words are not yet his speciality.
If he wants to know what something is he will point at it and say Dat?
And so it began.
He proceeded to point at everything.
Dat?
The table.
Dat?
A toy cow.
Dat??
A bloody shoe.
Etc, etc.
Until disaster struck.
He pointed at the top of the mantelpiece.
Daaaaat??
He drawled, his voice rising up in excitement.
I looked to where he pointed. If course, there was nothing fucking there.
Um, the mirror? Is that what you mean?
He scowled at me as if he were a plump teenager trying to open a carton of milk.
No. DAT?
He pointed again at the same area.
I looked more closely. I couldn't see anything.
Erm, the clock?
I hazarded.
Nnngh!? DAT!! DAT??? DAAAAAT!?!??
He started to stamp his feet with frustration.
Little man, I don't know what you want? Come on let's go play with your cars?
I thought that would work. He loves playing with his cars.
It didn't. He exploded with an almighty rage. Screams bellowing and tears erupting down his red angry cheeks.
DAAAAAT!?! DAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!?!?!?!! DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!?
He threw himself to the floor, and started kicking himself around in a circle like a berserk breakdancer.
I tried to pick him up. The resulting bloodcurdling scream almost stripped the skin from my face.
What's going on?!
The Good Lady stood at the door, a look of horror on her face.
He's just going nuts pointing at the mantlepiece?
I uttered feebly hoping for some sympathy.
The Good Lady strode over to the mantlepiece and picked a little wooden cat up from it and handed it to the little boom who instantly calmed.
For god sake, he wanted the cat? Couldn't you see it?
I peered at it and then at the now happy little boom. I shrugged my shoulders.
Ah... Dat.