I had several highly successful resolutions in 2016; sever ties between Great Britain and the meddlesome, terrorist producing, welfare dependent, culturally stunted, bureaucratic, dictatorial European Union, do what I could to move incrementally but steadily toward a time when all World Leaders can finally express all policy decisions and explain with nuance the complex modern interconnected world in 140 characters or less, ensure most of the best celebrities died while the entire cast of ‘Hey, Hey it’s Saturday’ remained intact, and make my own marmalade.
Given last year’s success it seems sensible to register at least one resolution for 2017; and that is to continue the internet documentation of my child (who is now 2 1/4), and our adventures together.
Many striking developments have occurred over the last 7 or 8 months. among these; Milo has learned to count to 10 although is for some reason completely disinterested in the concept of the number 7, with his ever-expanding vocabulary Milo has taken to concocting numerous pretexts to explain why he can’t go to sleep just yet, each less compelling than the last “daddy the cricket outside is too noisy, please go and get him”, “daddy the kitchen door is not closed, please close it”, “I can’t find tiny sheep/ blue teddy/ kangaroo/ blue monkey/ kiwi bird anywhere” (meanwhile all of the above have been carefully secreted under the covers), Milo has learned to sing the ABCD song, which he calls “Baby CD” and which he yells at high volume while stamping his feet, not sure why, Milo loves sweeping, and water dragons, and sweet potato and watering the driveway, and says “oh what’s that noise?” in precisely the same British accent and intonation as Peppa Pig.
But perhaps the most baffling and intriguing development is Milo’s utter rejection of his name. Milo has over the last 6 months, without exception, only answered to and referred to himself by his nom de guerre ‘Boy’; always in the third person, engaging in a form of toddler illeism like The Rock, or Elmo, or Elaine’s short-lived boyfriend Jimmy; for example, “Boy digging really, really big hole, clever Boy”, “Boy is a wriggle pot”, “Daddy is big, Boy is tiny”, “Boy wearing pink shoes today”, “Boy and daddy working really really hard in the garden”, “Boy is a scrappy little boy”, “Boy is a little bit funny”, “Please mummy tickle Boy’s back, a little bit more” etc etc. The origins of this are hazy. It is possibly due to the very beginnings of his language when he learned that he and those like him were boys, daddy and others like him were men, and everyone else was a girl. Whatever the reason, he found the name compelling, and that is what he has chosen.
He is certainly aware that other people seem to think his name is Milo, but people greeting him by this phony, legally-imposed handle are usually met with hostility. It often baffles friends and strangers alike when, meeting him for the first time, they crouch down innocently and kindly say “Hi Milo, how are you?”, or similar, and are greeted with a furrowed brow, a pout, often a stamped foot and the rather confusing and aggressively delivered sentence “Boy not Milo, Boy is Boy!”. It then usually falls to one or other of his parents to explain to the innocent that they have not said anything wrong, that Milo is actually a lovely well-adjusted little boy but that he is just tired of everybody getting his name wrong. Milo forgives immediately once his name is corrected and returns at once to being a ray of extremely high energy sunshine.
How long will it last? Perhaps for ever, which is fine with us. But in the meantime we will need to continue to live with the disdainful glances we receive at the supermarket when we say to our son “come on boy, it’s time to go home”, as he skips along behind us carrying the bread.
Boy looking out to sea