It didn't get much better

My day that is. I picked up BBC Radio Leeds just after dropping the boy at nursery and half-heartedly listened to the travel. The M62 is always busy, always. There's often a bump or breakdown which slows things down further, but the Highways Agency patrols (those not-quite-Police landrovers which cause drivers to slow down suddenly in case they get nicked, before they realise they're not on the look out for speeders) are usually on the scene quickly and there have only been a handful of occasions where I've been more than a little delayed. I should have paid a bit more attention though and turned back before I reached the motorway. Closed Westbound (I still have to do the 'Never Eat Shredded Wheat' rhyme in my head, imagining I'm looking down on a map of the UK to check that's not the way I'm travelling) with two lanes closed Eastbound. I kept hoping it might have cleared by the time I got to that bit of the motorway, but ominous reports of gas cylinders, cooling and people having been stationary for more than an hour filtered through and I turned off at Huddersfield before giving up and coming home to work at the dining room table. Two hours spent, nothing achieved.

The boy (T) had a good day at nursery though, and doled out a big love and kiss when he got home, which cheered me up. He's started to say much more that's recognisable now. There's still a lot of babble, but there are certainly words, so I thought I'd better make a list of them.

Mama
Daddy
Dog (well, do, but he says it when he sees a dog, or a picture of a dog, so I know what he means!)
Fish (ish, ditto above)
Apple (abble)
Glasses
Upsy Daisy
What's that (os da?)

He's also parroted many more, repeating the sounds and shapes of the words my husband and I speak to him, but I'm being strict and not counting them as words until he uses them in context, without prompting.

During our NCT antenatal classes we did an exercise which was supposed to prepare us for the fact our child might be born with a disability. I can't remember all the details (all this pregnancy and breastfeeding really does rot your brain) but it involved a flower with petals on which you had to write one word that you hoped your child would be. Others in the group wrote 'sensible' and 'successful' on their petals. Do you know what I wrote? Clever. Clever! It's only now I realise how little I knew about the realities of becoming a parent. The course tutor had to point out that none of us had chosen 'happy'. Recalling it now makes me feel sick to my stomach. So I don't know why I'm writing lists of words, or why, whilst writing this, I've Googled to find out what it's 'normal' for a 13 month old to be able to say.