Recently, you've been pretty full-on, Noah. You are talking, talking, talking and asking questions all day. Often you don't give a shit about what the answer is.
You were telling me about your wellies. Your wellies have lots of space pictures on. You started to tell me all about them. You said, "That's a planet, isn't it, Daddy?" Yes, I said. "And that's a rocket isn't it?" Um-hmm, I said. Then I thought I'd ask: "Noah, what planet is that?" Pointing to the one with the rings.
"Saturn," you said.
You are one clever little boy. You knock our socks off every day.
Yesterday stayed at Grandma and Grandad's whilst Daddy took Mummy to London for her birthday. You wouldn't go to sleep because you had become convinced there was an owl in the garden.
It turns out, it was just a couple of disembodied headlights. They looked like big eyes to your tiny, imaginative brain.
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