Heroes

One of our fabourite TV shows at the moment is "Heroes". The heroes in question have super-powers. I can't claim to have super-powers, but I can claim to be a hero. I know, because Oliver has a t-shirt that says so. "My Dad is my Hero", it states in bold colours. I have to say I don't tend to dress him in it unless he's not going to spend the day with me, much as I secretly love it.

Yesterday morning I went in to get him up and dressed. He watched as I selected clothes from his chest of drawers. When he saw me take this shirt from the drawer - in fact just to get at another one - he immediately shouted "My Dad!". When I tried to offer him another t-shirt he got upset and insisted "My Dad, My Dad!". So My Dad it was.

I was looking back over this blog the other day and found that my first reference to him demanding my attention in particular was over a year ago. AA year on he has language to express exactly why and how Daddy is required. "Make it!" "Get it!" "Daddy do it", passing me a piece of playdough (for example) for me to join in with his play. And my favourite after he has requested something, possible or otherwise: "I'm ready."

He has other heroes though. His favourite toy, Julien, also has hero status. I fly him over Oliver while I get him changed, intoning in Hollywood fashion, "Is it a bird? No! Is it a plane? No! It's Super Julien!" and I fly him down towards Oliver. Yesterday morning I forgot to bring Julien downstairs and found myself enacting all that myself, flying around the kitchen as he chuckled between his mouthfuls of Rice Crispies.