Complimentary

I am sitting on the toilet. Sorry, not a great opening line I know but hey, this is anonymous and it adds a certain something to the story. The door creaks open (there is nothing sacrosanct in our house) and T toddles in, oblivious to the fact I might like some privacy. He grabs my necklace and fiddles, 'I loike your beads Mummy'. His Essex based Grandparents have had more of an impact on his speech than our 300 mile separation would suggest, his accent is anything but Lancashire.

I stand and fasten my trousers. 'I loike your top with (peers closer) leaves and flowers and (grabs a piece and fingers it) patterns'. I move to the sink and wash my hands. My squat shadow follows me. 'Mummy, have you been to the hairdressers?'

I'm perplexed. I'm fiercely proud of the fact my son is a caring, sharing, gentle boy. His father mutters quietly about our weekly ballet class, and rather more loudly that I shouldn't indulge his penchant for hairslides, and I worry how I'll explain this apparent new fascination with the dowdy dress sense and straggly locks of a tired Mum. What's next, toddler fashion and beauty tips?

I meet my fellow NCT Mums for dinner. Over chow mein we discuss the little darlings' latest skills. Post potty training, it's all about phonics. T can sound out his own name and recognises the letters that belong to the rest of his family. C is for compliments and N is for nursery where it appears they've been talking about 'being nice' all week. My friend's daughter A has also been passing comment on her Mum's outfits, 'Mummy I like that top on you'.

So the mystery is solved, but as I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror it's comforting to think perhaps T might, without encouragement, still think in his own small way I'm a yummy Mummy.