Why does she insist on pulling out my pony tail every time I wear one?
Why is it she’ll turn her nose up at my home-made cottage pie, yet she’s happy to eat a Pedigree Schmacko?
What is she thinking exactly when she laughs and waves at seemingly thin air?
What does “Mway” mean? Because she’s been saying that a lot lately, and it sounds important to her.
Where did she learn that dance move? The one that’s kind of like sumo wrestling meets vogue?
Why does she prefer the snail to all the pretty fish in the aquarium?
How did she manage to set the alarm on her Daddy’s digital watch? Because we can’t work out how to un-set it and it’s been going off at twenty past ten every night for months now.
What’s the fascination with socks?
Does she have any real clue just how precious she is and how much we love her?
Is it really necessary to shout “PUMP” after every episode of flatulence?
Who taught you that anyway?
Such are the questions I have been recently pondering about the Giblet . . . what would yours be about your little one?