The word that sums up this week for me is:
It’s Arthur’s word really – the latest he’s added to his ever-growing vocabulary. It began, as most words do, with copying. Then yesterday morning he rolled over and woke up in the cot which is still attached to the side of our bed, picked up one of his teddies, smiled at me and said ‘bear’.
It’s not the word itself though that makes it so significant, but rather the thing he’s attaching it to. Teggy (as I creatively named him as a child) has been my bear since I was a tiny baby. He went everywhere with me, well into my teens. Even when I moved out of home Teggy came with me. I knew I was far too old for such things but to have him there was strangely comforting.
Having a baby finally ousted my childhood companion from my bed, and he’s sat forlornly on the radiator for most of the past year. Until one day Arthur noticed him, and held up his arms for a cuddle.
I love the idea that Teggy might become Arthur’s bear: though he’s definitely showing the wear and tear you’d expect from his 35 years he’ll always hold a special place in my heart.
(Oh, and before anyone says anything, I realise ‘he’s’ wearing a dress in this last pic. I always did have a rather fluid sense of gender as a child…)