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Popping

Yesterday morning we had a lovely experience that I don’t want to forget.

I was late and got to mum and dad without having fed the pob. Slap wrists. Luckily he wasn’t bothered. He’d been too clingy to peel off me to feed. However once at ma and pas we both settled in for some brek.

Granny’s speciality of porridge yum! So as granny and grand pops were merrily waiting on the pob hand and foot he was ordering them around and telling them all sorts of delights (caaaat, eating, moooore??) however he was calling everyone daddy again (including me). He seems to think that everyone he loves is called daddy.

So as normal I set about explaining this is gran gran and signing, this is mummy and signing, this is grand pops and signing. As I signed grand pops he absolutely perfectly said pops and signed what I’d signed. Dads face was a picture, he was so chuffed he’d said his name. Because we all praised him he kept doing it it was hilarious! Then we did the whole ‘who is this’ again to each of us and although me and mum were still ‘daddy’ dad was pops. I was so proud of him, clever little pob. And dad was just so happy he’d said pops. His special grand pops.

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