Last night I babysat my goddaughter. Her mummy -being an amazing single mum -deserved a night off so the little one stayed over.
The spare bedroom is being emptied after my parents decorating frenzy (the whole house!). So she sleeps in her travel cot in my room.
Which means one thing. When she is up, she is the boss.
This cute fifteen-month-old thinks Auntie being awake means playtime.
Auntie being up means it's all about her. She smiles, bats her long lashes and holds up her arms for a cuddle. So, naturally, I have to obey. :)
At breakfast she sat in her chair, with her cereal, having a conversation with my dad. Her talking (as you would expect)is the odd familiar word, followed by mashed up baby talk.
But it got me thinking about words.
We spend the first few years of our lives learning words. We practice, write them down and read them over and over until we get them right.
My dad answered back by talking in a mix of ''real'' and baby words. And she kept talking, her face full of concentration and joy. She believed what she was telling him.
To her it made sense, even if I didn't understand. I knew then that sometimes it isn't the words we use, it's how we tell the story.
All we as writers need to do is harness that and repeat it on the page.