The thing about your second (and third) child is their speech development might be slower (maybe that's boys) but due to an older sibling their vocabulary is so much more advanced.
At Seren's 30mth assessment, due to my insecurities, she had a referral to a speech therapist. It was all fine.
In Wales, a similar assessment happens at 36mths. And I was assured I had nothing to be concerned about.
And having spent so much time with Tom & Seb lately I know that to be right, and have fallen a little bit more in love with them because of it.
"Mummy doesn't understand me".
And they are so excited as they try to make me understand their messages.
Tonight, as I put them to bed.
They were telling me about something.
I didn't get it.
It began with 'b'.
I decided it was that daddy had promised them their proper 'b'eds.
They got frustrated.
It turns out they are convinced that Seb left his 'b'us and 'B'en's.
From Tom, Seb and me.
Tom and Seb were happy that I would phone Ben's mum to retrieve the bus.
I was so happy I had got to the bottom of their unhappiness.
They are 3.
I manage my expectations.
Compared to Seren they are my babies.
I don't want them to grow up as fast.
I will never get to relive this again.
And yet, they know so much more than Seren did.
And yet, they never seem as she was.
Never quite as big for their tender age.
Seb remains the pusher of boundaries.
Moving on from the two-year old with the bottom lip.
To a three-year old with bossy tendencies.
Which need to be reigned in.
And yet, in the same breath, has taken over Tom's role, after three years, as mummy's boy.
Tom remains my baby.
The child likely to get more poorly, quicker, and for longer.
Tom, who has a wonderful consultant, who phones his mum to let her know the ECG was ok (We love the NHS!!!).
Tom, who thinks that if he shouts "mummy" everything will be ok. Even when he's being really naughty.
Tom, who has his mummy's drama tendencies.
Everything is a crisis.
Boys who can be so mesmerised by 'Paw Patrol' that they don't hear mummy offering chocolate buttons.
Boys who love their Fireman Sam bedroom but who asked for the light shade and clock to be moved in from their nursery because they belong in their room.
Boys who love playdough and painting.
And retain their love of wrestling
I cannot take anything away from them.
These are my boys.
And, when they're getting up early, get up at 7.15.
But most days are up at 8am.
And they fight.
And know they have to say "sorry" and hug and make up.
And know their own way to the naughty step.
And love being outside.
And love swimming.
And love practicing forward rolls.
And whilst they can both eat independently.
From time to time they still want mummy to feed them.
And whilst they have the hang of potty training and can cope with pants, they can't cope with trousers.
And they love 'Knock Knock' jokes, as long as their punchline is "pooey bum" it remains hysterical.
And so, they remain my babies.
Even if they are three.