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Milo my 3rd child

Eliza loves Milo her stuffed toy dog. He is always to be found in the mornings locked under her arm in a sort of rugby tackle with his head squashed into the crook on her elbow.

Milo has breakfast with her.

“Mummy, Milo’s sitting there, next to me and Tilly.”

“Ok, what does he want for breakfast?”

“Weetabix please Mummy.”

“Right.” I get a plastic bowl out.

“No Mummy, he wants a grown up bowl.”

“Right.” I get a china bowl out.

The same happens in the car.  Milo has to buckled up in the middle of her and Tilly. He has to sit down and watch Fireman Sam with them and he has to sit on the table when they are ‘doing’ crafts.

So this afternoon when I phoned to talk to her and she went all shy on me I said:

“Will Milo talk to me then darling?”

“No Mummy.”

“Oh. Why not?”

“Because he can’t talk Mummy, he’s a toy.”

Once again my 3 year old puts me in my place.

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