Lily, master of the pointed finger, the expressive 'ah, ah, ah', the informative squeal, the satisfied 'argh', the pout and frown, and owner of the best greasy look I've seen since I was fourteen, has added words to her vocabulary:
bake bees (baked beans)
no no no (with waggly finger accompaniment)
One of the many things that has surprised me about motherhood is that I have not become blase about these little accomplishments.
Lily is most particular about how and on whom she bestows her largesse. Almost anyone, including a house, is worthy of an enthusiastic parting wave, but she is fickle with cuddles. She has the older girls turning themselves in circles to entertain her, make her laugh, give them a kiss or a hug, whilst she solemnly shakes her head. I choose to see this as an admirable refusal to perform like a seal, and the singular determination of an independent thinker. It could equally presage a wide streak of bloody-mindedness.