Tadpole is having her bath. I am seated next to her, on the toilet, as there is really no where else to sit in our two and a half square metre bathroom.
“Mummy mummy mummy!” shouts Tadpole, excitedly. “Look mummy!”
I lower my copy of Heat and give her my full attention.
“What do you want to show me?” I enquire, feigning interest.
“Mummy. Regarde! Le bateau, il a chaviré!“
Oh. My. God.
Just twenty eight months old and she is now using French words which I can only understand with the help of a dictionary.