Digger in the playground - on respect for design and letting go

I have a new-found respect for playground design. Not just the overall functionality and range of stuff, of the design and placement of the benches – all of which is so much better and more varied than what I grew up with.

No… I am beginning to see just how much thought went into the actual design.

It’s obvious. I just hadn't quite appreciated how clever it all is before. For instance the wonderful climbing frames of ropes are set a specific distance at ground level. You’ve simply got to be say 120cm before you can climb into the higher and more challenging part of the frame. The ropes there are set much closer, so they are easier to manoeuvre.

I try my hardest to give Digger free reigns at the playground. And now this stand back approach pays dividend: I can actually have a few conversations with the usual suspect parents there. Like yesterday, chatting away, and sudden I saw my son peeking up at the top of a huge ship. He had mastered a steep tricky climb up the side of it. On his own.

Since Digger arrived, I have tried to stand back, but stay close. Sorry mum, but one of the real yokes I carry from my childhood is her shriek followed by some quick tempo’ed chant of ‘be careful, careful, careful, gentle, come back, that’s too high, come down, get out, WATCH OUT, be careful, careful, you might slip, oh you will slip, oh careful, you’re slipping’ etc.

For me there is only one message in this. I hear : 'I don't trust you.'

I heard: 'I don't trust you to know what you are capable of'. 

And it never failed to unsettle me. I got nervous, and then, yes, I might have slipped. Which I might not otherwise have done, had I not absorbed my mother’s fear. Genuine fear. But it was hers to hold. Not mine. I almost get angry now if she does the same to Digger. Usually it is in situations where I have calculated the risk (as much as I ever can), and I have reached my own verdict that Digger knows what he is doing. No need to interfere. In fact just the opposite. I need to show that I trust him and his abilities.

But she is not alone of course in this approach. I hear this from so many other parents, carers and passers by. They shriek and raise their arms, they may even grab hold of Digger, and remove him. I have yet to come up with a sentence where I can tell them – politely – that I am still in charge, but most importantly that Digger is completely competent, to make his own mistakes.

In fact I want Digger to fall, trip, bang his knees etc. I’d much rather he does that now, from 40cm height than from 4m high up.

Moreover,  I am convinced that his physical confidence is also psychological confidence. And with a sidewards-glance at some recent research from University of Cambridge amongst others, his joy of exploring what he is physically capable of will stand him well in school. Free-play is by some hailed to be a good measure for academic success. I feel that Digger’s true confidence is also key in his sense of self, and that is paramount to me, as his mum.

I asked two of my friends - whose kids stand out to me particular good at head stands, football and climbing - what it is they do when their kids do things that may seem dangerous. How they as parents manage not to transfer their anxiety onto their kids?  Independently they both answered: ‘Sometimes you just have to look away.’ It’s a great answer.

Another thing I tell myself if I am in doubt is: ‘If he dares, so do I.’

All this within reason of course.

I do step in sometimes, if necessary. Invariably that is when he is worked up, overtired, geared up etc. Then I need to calm him down. Often touch is enough to bring him down a notch or two. But sometimes the only option is leaving the activity/space. This is especially if there are spats with other children – more on this another time….

If Digger fall – and he often does – I’ve got to be there for the aftermath. Ready with a big soothing cuddle, lots of kisses – if he indicates that’s what’s needed. But more often than not just acknowledging I saw what happened seems to be enough for him. He seeks eye contact, to see if I noticed. I might wince and say ‘Outch! Are you ok?’ and that seems to do the trick. 

I’ve recently started carrying a small set of first aid with me. Some antiseptic wipes and Band-Aids sort of thing. So far I’ve used them on other kids in the playground.

At night when we bath him, we check him over for bruises and grazes. And there are many. The majority on his lower legs. He leads a hard life. But we hope to ease it with a bit of cream and cuddles. There certainly seems to be no stopping him.

I’m really proud of him for all his physical energy and bravery. And I know he knows his limits, many of them anyway. For instance, he will be careful, if I don’t interject. And if I say ‘Digger, that is too high. That really makes me nervous. You could get seriously hurt if you fall. Can you please come down again?’ He will. Depending on my own emotional state, I will have made him nervous or even scared by saying so. In these situations I then have created something where I might need to step in and help him down. 1-0 to mum on freaking out. Usually I help by talking through how to get down. Cause he probably lost his nerve too. 

Digger seems only to get into sticky situations like that if I have helped him up over a barrier that he was too small to tackle himself. Herein lies my new-found respect. Who ever designed all this was way ahead of parents, well of me anyway.

The lesson I take from the playground designer is this: Don’t help you kid up past the point they can get to themselves. If you do, be prepared for the consequences.

And what has this got to do with adoption? Everything. First and foremost I can see Digger self-esteem growing when he masters a new skill. I hope this will feed into a sound sense of self. It is curious and very obvious that he still seems to prefer me nearby. Somewhere within reach. I still can't just sit down with a book. Although I am working on it.

I try so hard to set boundaries that he can handle. It’s not easy, but it is getting easier, to nestle into that mental parenting space of letting go on a background of mutual trust. If I can't quite find the trust in me/him, I rest it all on the designer of the playground equipment. They seem to know what they were doing. 

Yes! A master class.

I learn a lot from Digger. Every day. All day long. If I am open to it.

Digger is learning to speak at the moment.  

His parents think it is coming on apace.

A friend turned to face me the other day, when we were playing with our kids:

‘I understand what Digger is saying!! I did! Wow. To me he always just sounded like that Swedish Cook from the Muppet Show.’ I know exactly what this friend means…

Certain Digger sounds can have a multitude of meanings. Or rather certain groups of words sound completely alike to my ear, but not to his. Thus ‘DdSsshhhyyyttzz’ can be ‘pacifier’, ‘sleep’, ‘milk’, ‘juice’ or ‘sshhyyyy’ or a lot of other things.  

I am getting better at guessing.

Currently, conversations between Digger and me often go something like this:

‘DdSsshhhyyyttzz’

“Juice?! Are you thirsty?’

‘No. DdSsshhhyyyttzz.’

‘Sleep? Are you tired? Sleepy?

‘No. DdSsshhhyyyttzz.’

‘Pacifier!?’

‘No. DdSsshhhyyyttzz.’

‘Help me, darling... I really don’t understand. Show me.’

Digger sighs audibly. And drags me to the fridge where he pulls out a yogurt.

Once or twice he has broken down in tears because his mother is so dim.

Real heartbroken sobs. Nobody-understands-me-kind-of-sobs.

But when I do get it right he raises his little arms above his head, palms raised to the sky and shouts ‘YAAESSHH!’ and beams. Then we move on.

It is the same thing if he gets upset and I am not sure why. As we have learned and as I have learned the hard way is the quickest, nicest, more direct way of dealing with upsets, I pull him close – if he will let me – and start digging….

‘Are you sad because I left the room?’ He shakes his head. ‘Are you sad because you wanted to stay here in your room?’ Shakes his head. ‘Sad because you don't want to go to the park?’ 

Often I’m wrecking my brain to find other plausible explanations. At 32 months he does seem do want me to put words to his thoughts and feelings, and he likes it when I try to guess. So I look around… trying to find visual clues. Wooden blocks are strewn all over the floor. Evidence of Digger and Daddy’s morning routine.

‘Are you sad because you want to play with your blocks …’ ‘Are you sad because you miss daddy?’ Nods vigorously and sobs loudly. ‘And sad because playing with the blocks made you think of him?’ ‘YEEEAASH!’ Then he sobs some more, wipes his nose, cuddles, snuggles. Then gets up and goes to put on his shoes so we can go to the park. Right as rain again.

It is such a wonderful capacity. To be so happy when I (or Daddy) get it right. Then he can let it go. And move on.

‘So you are angry, because I didn’t buy you any flowers on Mother’s Day?’ I might wish my husband would ask me. ‘YES!’ Wouldn’t it be great if it were that easy to acknowledge feelings of hurt and then to move on? Really move on. No hang ups. No coming back later on the same subject. No need to. 

The flowers are not really a hang up of my – but you get the idea… other things may be...

I’m taking note of Digger’s straight up emotions and how he deals with them, and I’m trying new things in my interaction with my husband too. Trouble is … we spend more time guessing at what Digger is feeling than what we are. Same old same old… There is simply less time for each other when you get a kid.

We Digger parents agree that recently, it has been a major lesson for both of us to realise just how much he appreciates it when we take our time to keep guessing with him. And how getting it right means moving on. We can learn from that.

No, mummy No!

 So many variations that little two-letter word.

And I am not talking about the word so favoured by toddlers, Digger included. It clearly empowers him, and the repeat use of it can be tiresome, but I’m happy to report that he uses a lot of yes’s too.

Actually, this post is about me – again. And my use of the word. 

Aimed by the 97cm high being that is my 30-month-old son.

‘Nonononononono’ is completely channelling my own mother. Or my Dad pops up with with a series of pensive and non-committal ‘No…. no…no.’ Or sometimes with a serious ‘NO!’. I tend to inhabit my own more. The ‘Nope’, ‘Naaaahhh…’ or ‘Noooouuuuu..!’ or ‘Nooo way’. I come from a culture where ‘no’ is rife. It can actually be used politely.

Then there’s ‘Interesting…’ (That wonderfully not-so-genuine expression of actual interest). ‘Are you sure?’ or ‘Really?’ to which Digger will reply ‘Yes, sure.’ and ‘Yes, really.’ He definitely has my number.

‘Are you kidding me?!’ get’s the response ‘No. Kidd.’ And Digger usually means it. Like asking for chocolate roses before dinner, as he did tonight.

The English are World Champions of gracious, sly and evasive no’s. I speak as a non-native speaker, after decades as an outsider within. And I am still learning. It’s like tuning an old fashioned radio: sometimes it is all noise, but other times it is clear as day, and that can be a bit frightening. Suddenly understanding something fully. Or just in a new way. Though admittedly, not taking no for an answer, can now be disguised as ‘Sorry, I am a foreigner -  didn’t realise…’. Often I should, and I do, know better. Cheeky. But effective.

I don’t think that many of these nuances are lost on Digger. In fact, I wonder whether this picture isn’t quite familiar to him…

At the moment, I am a little obsessed with parenting books, but that’s a subject for a another time. Suffice to say that I’ve given up finding that all-encompassing toddler owner’s manual with a handy trouble shooting diagram at the back. Now I read for inspiration. I read quicker and more critically. Somehow in my own insecurity and guilt-ridden stab at parenting, I am getting a strong sense of what I believe in, or rather, the mother that I am. And want to be. Wish me luck.

Many parenting experts have voiced opinions on the word ‘No’. It comes under disciplining. In itself a toxic area. Divisive at best. Some parenting styles recommends avoiding ‘No’ all together, or in so far as that is possible. I find the concept really interesting. For an avid user of the ‘nononononono’ this would obviously be a challenge. But then again... I am up for looking critically at any aspect of my parenting.

I experimented with a ‘no’-free world for a few days. But found ‘no’ just appeared in other ways. With the same force and meaning.

It clearly makes sense to cut down on the negative in any relation and form of communication. People bigger, stronger and more able than themselves govern the lives of tots in all aspects. Handing back some autonomy is as powerful as it is necessary for happy and smooth interaction within the family as a whole. 

Are there any parents out there who haven’t experienced the amazing power of the positive zone? Living in a positive groove is self-fulfilling and self-reinforcing. It is very powerful upward spiral.

By the same token negative grooves can be very destructive, and everything can unravel very quickly. We know that too. Even if we have only glimpsed over the edge into the abyss … None of us do need to go down there to know the sway of the negative.

But abandoning ‘no’ seem extreme to me.

‘Is it red?’

‘No, it’s blue’

‘Mummy, can I have an ice cream?’ (or in Diggerish: ‘Izsshhseeehhh?’)

‘No, dinner will be ready in 5 mins.’ (This goes down a lot easier if delivered with a kiss and a smile.)

Those exchanges seem to me to be parenting in full stops. Reasonable ‘no’s. Not much to argue about. Facts. Different kinds of facts for sure. In the latter not so much about physics, as it is about different ideas of what constitutes good eating habits at 5.48pm. At dinner time mum decides when, what and where. But not how much.

‘No’ is the opposite of ‘yes’. It is simply a very useful word.

It is the delivery, the tone of voice that conveys most of the message of ‘No’ in any context. Much more so than the word itself. As per example, ‘I love you’ can be delivered through clenched teeth. Thereby negating any feeling of love or trust for that matter.

‘No’ can be delivered with too much force and can be very scary for a tiny tot. Or it can be understanding, respectful and soft. Those latter no’s are the ones I am practising. Though I am the user of many.

Using ‘STOP!’ instead of ‘No!’ obviously makes a lot of sense. As does ‘Danger!!’. These words can be used very effectively for extreme situations, like toddler heading out into traffic. In fact if they only get used in those situations they remain words of impact. Digger instantly complies when I say ‘STOP’. Delivered with panache, of course, and conviction. I think Digger can hear the fear in my voice. This is discipline on another level.

But no. I will never abandon ‘no’. In life, or in disciplining my son. I’m committed to  cut down, as much as possible. There is always room for that with a ‘no’-ridden background like mine and a toddler in the house.

I’m guessing that no-one out there would like to use the word more. Would they?

Dummies

What is it about Dummies? Why are they so divisive? 

I am genuinely puzzled.

In many playgroup and gatherings Digger is the only kid with a dummy. I get these sideway glances from other mums... Especially if Digger drops the dummy, and then quickly – before I can get to it – picks it up and sticks it in his mouth again.

It’s like smoking. Yuk.

I know parent that are hell bent on breaking the dummy habit, or those who only in whispering tones can admit that their kids also use them – sometimes.

Yes, they are made of plastic. And Dad hate that Digger is wearing a piece of plastic in many, if not most, of the thousands of images we have taken of him.

Yes, there are germs involved. There are with all children. A lot.

And yes, admittedly, over time I have become a little less obsessed with sterile pacifiers, although they all get the regular spin in the dishwasher with the bottles on a hygienic setting.

And yes, it schhluurss Digger’s speech – if he speaks with it in his mouth.

And yes, he definitely drools more with it.

But I think dummies are good news. On the whole. It is a short stint in life. I don’t know any 5 year olds who use them. Except occasionally at night? To help them fall asleep and wards off monsters. I do know one person in his twenties who still suck his thumb. Charismatic, charming, high achiever. But that is very unusual, right?

Realms and realms have been written on pacifiers and dummies. Pros and cons. I can’t find much scientific evidence for them being as bad as their reputation, and if so only in extremis. I get the sense it is something else, people have against them. Some personal.

Personally, I was very happy that Digger came with this particular habit. He settles easily. He can be calmed down quite easily and very quickly from most episodes with tears with a dummy and his bunny.

Digger used it A LOT in the beginning of the placement – it would bob in and out of his little mouth, like Maggie and her oversized pacifier in the Simpsons. Characteristic, funny and cute.

First time I acknowledged I had finally arrived at parenthood, was when I tried to start the car with a dummy. Now they are everywhere. In my bag, my pockets, on tables, chairs, bed, car, bath…

Many adoptive children were never breastfeed. My son wasn’t. He went from hospital straight to his fostermum, Rosa. He never lived with his birth mother. So his was bottlefed. He quickly grew to a chubby baby in the arms of Rosa and remains a healthy child.

Babies are born with an ability to suck – it is, and was, how they are going to survive. Breastfeeding does bring about the ultimate physical closeness, and many studies have shown that breast fed babies spend longer feeding than bottle fed children. Well, I can never breastfed Digger. I wish I could have. Is Digger's dummy an allowance from me because I haven’t? Do I think that breastfeeding and dummy sucking goes on the same account of ‘sucking in childhood'? No, of course not. But I don’t mind it one bit, when we snuggle and cuddle too.

Sucking is calming. Clearly. Period. Digger sometimes seems to disappear into this dummy world of calm. This is his place of safety.

For these uprooted children dummies should be a good thing, no?

Dan Hughes endorses them, I was very relieved to learn.

Where I come from, there is a dummy tree in the park. There, children come with their parents when they are ready to give up. It’s a big day. Many children remember it well. The family celebrate this coming of age and there is often a significant present – chosen by the child.

I approve of Digger’s use. I don’t really encourage it, beyond grabbling for one, if he cries that cry that can be comforted by double whammy of dummy and bunny. And making sure there is an extra by his cot at night. He doesn’t really wake up a night asking for it. Now he often finds it himself again, and is learning how to fall back to sleep again. I know, because I can hear him when he rootles for it and when he finds it.

So when the time comes, I will help him stop this habit. In fact now that Digger’s language is coming on apace, he often likes to take it out to make himself heard. He too can hear how much better everything he says sounds without it. He is already using it less than he did when he first came to us. But it will be a while yet before he is ready to give it up, I think.

But I am confident he will give up his dummies. When the time comes. For now there are FAR worse things he could be doing.

Ahaparenting has posted this handy link on dropping the dummy. And Handinhandparenting has this nice little article.

I'd love to hear your view on the matter.

Toddler Tooth Brushing – La Cucaracha style

What has this got to do with adoption?

Simple, I try to minimise tears and force in everything I do.

We all know adopted children start for a position of grave and fundamental loss. They don’t need more punishment, rejection and hurt, if we can possibly avoid it.

So I try very hard to do everything a gentle and respectful way.

Tooth brushing is an area that could so easily have turned into daily arguments. And I can’t just go ‘oh well, it doesn’t matter.’ Here I do have to follow through (most nights anyway).

I know only of two ways of brush a toddler’s teeth: with tears and brute force or without. The latter being preferable, but achievable only if only a smithereen of pressure is applied and the toddler sets the tempo. It has taken us 18 months to get there, and the journey wasn't a straight line, but we now have a format that seems to work for us. And yes it involves singing.

La Cucara-cha, La Cucara-cha …

That’s the song we brush our teeth to. Every night.

The tooth brushing comes at a very specific point of the night-time routine. Certain things can be cut out from the routine, like the bath itself if we are running late, but the general arch of the routine has to stay in the same order for the night-time magic to work. Tooth brushing has its place in this order. It comes between the bath itself and creaming up. Just after being held as a baby for little while, all cocooned and wrapped up tightly in a warm towel. Then we slowly move to the sink, a toothbrush is chosen amongst several and a dollop of paste administered, by either of us.

All the while we sing La Cucaracha, and perhaps doing a little dance or wiggle to it too.

I don't like arguing over the issue, so I always let Digger know that I have all the time in the world, but that I will finish off. I tried letting him do it completely on his own, thinking in time he would get better, and that it didn’t matter too much – everything not to upset the little man! Especially in the beginning. But I soon noticed his milky white teeth were getting a little yellow. Yuk. So, now I insist at least that once a day, after the bath.

Digger usually starts off himself, and now even brushes rhythmically to La Cucaracha. He is definitely getting better at brushing. In the morning, we let him do it himself, when we all do it together. It can take 10 mins for him to be ready for me to finish it, or 1min. Overtime this window has gotten shorter. He knows I mean business.

We check and say ‘hallo tooth’ to each and every one of them. Or the shorter version ‘Hallo, teeth’. ‘Say aaaa’ or some other open sound to check the back teeth is necessary. I hold the brush like a I would a pencil, so as not to ram it in his little mouth. The ‘tiger’ grin, that is clenched and bared teeth, is also becoming a true ritual. Roaring goes well with it too. It gets all the front teeth in one go, and loads of foam going too. Digger does appreciated that I can produce quite a lot more foam than he can. You see, he loves tooth paste. I remember loving the stuff myself…I think he could eat a whole tube of it if we let him. But I know a child, who’s teeth rotted, as he eat his way through vast quantities of it. We keep the tooth paste as a treat, twice a day. Only ever served on a brush, and accompanied by brushing.

Tooth brushing toddler tempo is another area where slowing down and turning up the rhythm and multisensory approach is definitely the quicker way. Especially if performed over time.
Then it really gets quicker.

La Cucara-cha, La Cucara-cha ….

I’d love to hear other people ideas on this subject.

Here’s a link to the Gispy King version for the extra keen, or those, like me, who do not necessarily remember titles of songs, but more the melody: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_VILr1xH3io

A day with Rosa

In my last blog, I wrote about a very special person in our lives: Digger’s fostermum, Rosa. The post described only a fraction of what she means to us. In this blog I will continue my tribute, and include her family. A pivotal point is the trust my husband and I place in her, that strong piece of a puzzle that is Digger’s life.

While Digger lived with Rosa, he spent a lot of time with her close-knit family. Especially her mother and father, where he would often spend the night. But he also stayed with her sister and her family. They were all her back-up carers, and Digger loved spending time with them.

We have kept in regular contact with Rosa and her family. And so it was a natural progression to ask Rosa and her mum to do an evening’s worth of babysitting last month. Very thoughtfully she pinged through a selfie of a cuddle on our sofa which Pierre and I got while we were out for dinner. They looked so in tune and so happy. They share something. And our hearts burst at the sight of it. It felt very good and right to leave them to themselves too. To have their own thing…

‘You have no idea how much it means for us to still be able to see Digger.’

Well, that feeling is mutual.

Just last week, 18 months after Digger left Rosa to come live with us, we upped the game, and let him he spent a whole day with her and her family.

Digger had a wail of a day. Jam packed with people he had know when he was an infant. Blasts from the past.

Rosa returned after supper with a very happy and super stimulated boy. Loaded with a heap of small and big presents, and arms full of hand-me down toys. It was clear that they had had a very special time. There had been dozens of hugs for Digger, and playmates. Bags of attention, smiles, giggles, tickles, tossing up the air, rugby, football and much much more. Rosa told stories of how happy everyone had been to see Digger. She kept it a surprise to her nieces and nephews, and it paid off. They were moved to tears. Happy tears. Each one of them recognised him. At first sighting. From the back.

By the sounds of it, Digger had been his most charming, fun-loving, cuddly, caring self that day.

Rosa said the only time Digger wobbled was when she strapped him in the car seat of her car, got in the driver seat and turned the key. She looked in the rear mirror and saw a frightened little face. She quickly addressed it, turned around and talked to him about the day ahead, and how they were going to come back tonight. She put on some music and soon they were singing along. Later on, when she told him it was time to go home, he smiled brightly and was ready.

That night he went to sleep in his cot with a big smile on his face.

The boy who got out of his cot the next morning, however, was very whining and clingy. The sling came in very handy over the next few days. He spent the greater part of the day clued to my body. You could not have put a piece of paper between me and Digger. And the day after, a Saturday, he did the same to my husband, when he wasn't stuck to me. It was exhausting for us grown ups. So I wonder how it must have felt to him.

I was nervous that I had overstretched him. But now a few days later, all is back to normal. And he has learnt a new word: Home. We use it all the time. He signs it, when he says it. Making a pointed arch with both hands, by letting the finger tips of one hand touch the other. He beams when he says it: ‘Home!’

When we return from our daily business we now play ‘Where does Digger live? Where does mummy, daddy and Digger live?’ And he shouts ‘There! There!’ Points. And then scoots straight up to the front door. He knows where he lives. And that this is where we come back to, whenever we have been out.

Nevertheless we needed to anchor him back into our family after his day with Rosa. He was only ten months when he left her, but those memories of being up rooted are evidently strong.

Typically, I am still a little worried I did the wrong thing, but have decided to use the opportunity to strengthen our bond, and his sense of family and home. I prefer to use the episode constructively. And to let him head off with Rosa again at some future date. 

The future will hold similar situations, I am sure, where he will be upset and confused, and we need to reassure him of the stability of our family. Some will involve Rosa, some his birth family, and some may be prompted in other, unpredictable ways, I suspect.

I feel so strongly that we as his parent must make a concerted effort to integrate his past into his present and his future. There is no doubt I pushed it. More than I knew I did. We got away with it. In fact, the result of Digger’s day out with Rosa and her family has been that our family ties are stronger.

15 life skills mastered by my son this week

Perhaps many 2 ½ year olds have mastered these skills long ago, but to us they are new, as of early March 2014. Digger takes quite some pride in all of them. And so do we.

1.    Serving himself at dinner. Including filling our water glasses.
2.     Smiling and waving goodbye, when I said I was off, leaving him with his nanny. Normally he will wobble. That felt very strange for me. Not entirely sure I like this new response either.
3.     Retrieving his dummy from another room. He asked, I suggested. Off he went and returned with it. This is complicated stuff. Q&A, imagination, translating words into concrete scenarios, and then stepping into action. Wow.
4.     Filling a mould with sand, the tapping on the sand to compact it before tipping over the mould, ‘Tap, tap, tap…’ again, before lifting the mould. And hey presto: a fine moulded mount. Lots of neat little mounts in the local sandpit this weekend.
5.     Blowing a whistle. Will probably live to regret this one.
6.     Firing a water pistol. Quickly moved on to level 2: firing at his dad’s crotch. Will definitely live to regret this one.
7.     Popping bubble wrap. Again quickly moved on level 2: driving a tricycle across a great expanse of it. Much more efficient and fun.
8.     Blowing his nose. I mean really blowing it. So we can forget about the Nuk snot-extractor, which did many a times end in tears, and only marginally red noses.
9.     Skipping and spin jumping. Much of it exhibited while dancing Martha Graham style to mummy and daddy’s (bad) flamingo-style clapping. New evening ritual, as off this week.
10.  Drawing circles. Very Giottesque. At this rate and determination, Digger should be able to do a perfect circle – without the aid of compasses – at the ages of … say… 16. This week he also did a perfect capital ‘A’ and a perfect capital ‘D’. By accident, we think.
11.  Heading off to the Park - on his own. This is a dodgy one for many reasons. Not least that it was 8.15am, when Digger took of on his scooter, dressed only in a diaper and wellies. But it does show he is 100% certain we’ve got his back.
12.  Playing by himself for more than a few minutes. Then checking in with me, then off again. The jo-jo is working at ever longer intervals. I even opened a book when at the playground today. No complicated literature, but all the same. He still needs me, but is also happy for a bit doing his own thing. Again tugging a bit at the apron stings here. But it is very interesting. I already miss his all time need of me.
13.  Went to the loo to do his business, like all the above - at his own initiatives.
14.  Ringing the doorbell with a stick. Never know when that might be really useful.
15.  Getting and out of the buggy all by himself. Soon there will be little need to strap him in.

All in all another week of quantum leaps. Where are we headed?