This evening, on the way home from nursery, Elliot had lots of things to tell us:
What do you call a boy who can’t walk who is stuck in the road?
Followed, moments later by:
Mummy I want you to have blond hair not black hair because I like blond hair.
Last night, just before bed:
Mummy, you are special. I am special too, and daddy and Alexander.
My chair is special, and my bed. My books are special and my jigsaws are special. My muslins are special too.
Ah, will we ever understand what goes on in a three year old’s brain?