Jamie’s latest skill, acquired as of last week, is blowing raspberries down the phone.
Even as a besotted parent, I do have to admit that that doesn’t sound terribly exciting. The point is, he has spent his life to date flat-out refusing to make any sort of sound down the phone. He is fascinated by phones; he will wrest the phone forcibly from your hand as you attempt to talk on it and stare raptly at it, occasionally pressing important buttons and cutting you off; but through months and months of "C’mon, Jamie, are you going to say hello to Nana, then?" he has remained resolutely mute.
However, last Monday, I rang home at the end of my working day as usual to let my husband know that I was on my way home, and he put me on speakerphone as usual to talk to Jamie, and I burbled excitedly down the phone to him as usual – "Hello, there! Is that a Jamie on the phone? Can you hear Mummy, little one?" And then, not as usual – I heard a tentative little raspberry from the other end, so quiet I couldn’t even be certain it hadn’t been a burst of static until I heard Barry enthusing delightedly over this new milestone. Since then, he’s repeated this achievement enough times that it clearly isn’t just a one-off.
I feel deeply proud and honoured to be the recipient of my son’s first telephonic communication. I may not get called Mummy, but at least I now get called Phhhbbbttt.