Jamie

Today, I met The Boy's speech and language therapist.

She was utterly lovely, extremely sweet and passionate about what she does.  She also clocked me giving a small child that was misbehaving "a look" and congratulated me on it, so she has gone down extremely well with Big Momma K of Wiltshire Towers.

She is what you fellas may refer to as "a bit of alright", resplendant in glorious hair (mine is greasy and all over the place and doubtless nit-filled), acrylic nails (I hide my sodden cuticles from her view), gloriously slim (the bitch), tanned (whilst I am easily seen at night due to my reflective skin), and has an impressive rack on display.

The Boy, however, is unconvinced of same.

As we walked together to do some work with her, on this the second occassion that he has seen her, he whispers to me "Is Jamie a boy or a girl?"

I lean down and say, "She's a girl."

He looks unsure.  "Are you sure Mummy?  Because Jamie is a boy's name."

"Jamie can be a girl or a boy's name.  Like Shirley."

He bursts into laughter. "Shirley? Don't be silly, Mummy!"

I consider running through other names past Big Daddy, like Marian for John Wayne, but leave it there.

He nudges me again "Are you sure she's a girl?"

I bend down and whisper very carefully "Yes, because she looks like a girl, doesn't she? She's got boobies like Mummy."

He nods sagely, then blurts out, very loudly "Yes, but she's also got a moustache. Look Mummy! Jamie's got a moustache, so she must be a boy!"

Jamie can hear us.  I smile and shush The Boy. 

He goes up and points at Jamie's upper lip "Look Mummy! There it is! Just there! I told you she has a moustache! She's a boy, isn't she?"

Of all the times when The Boy's expressive language makes a sudden leap to catch up with his comprehensive language...