14/08/2014 12:54 BST | Updated 22/05/2015 06:12 BST

He's Not With Me...

As R sped through infancy I distinctly remember saying to my other half one evening "I simply can't wait until he can talk, it will be so rewarding/engaging/exciting/[insert wonderfully positive but equally clueless adjective here]".

Now, as he propels himself headlong into the toddler years, I find myself dreading the next thing to come out of his mouth.

With the memory of an elephant and frightening accuracy of a court stenographer, he recites things you were convinced you S.P.E.L.T out to your significant other or conducted with discreetness worthy of a Secret Service agent.

At the moment we're at what I'm referring to as the Preliminary Stage, which currently consists of accusing strangers of being "Poomunkles", which I'm certain is less offensive-sounding than it's intended to be and disclosing to all and sundry that Mummy's favourite drink is "Wine...not cheap wine".

I could easily live with this, without having to change my name or don a disguise however, I'm convinced this is merely the appetiser in what will undoubtedly become a feast of parental embarrassment and humiliation.

Needless to say, the other half and I have taken a new vow (with far greater potential consequences than the old "I Do's") never to discuss anything in R's presence we wouldn't wish repeated during Christmas dinner or to every poor sod who happens to be in the middle of Waitrose perusing organic Eton-educated carrots on a Saturday morning.

In other words we've pretty much stopped communicating at all.

Little Rascal Reviews reviews pre-school products & blogs about parenting a baby & toddler

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