You are what you say

My Beirut Baby turned three last week. Watching her language develop still astounds me. And it’s not just linguistic; listening to her speak teaches me a lot about her personality, too.

My little control freak, having breakfast on the terrace:

“Wind, don’t blow my hair when I’m eating!” …or…

“Fly! Fly! Come to me!”

My little humorist, who loves the huge calendar I make her every couple of weeks, with a cheeky smile:

“Is there a “L” in the middle of Wednesday and we say ‘Welensday’?”

Or, deliberately showing me her “Domino” box upside down:

“Do we say ‘Onimod’?”

My little obsessive (eating an olive oil biscuit called torta con aceite) the day after discussing how we don’t say the last letter often in French:

“Do we say the s at the end of torta when there’s lots of tortas?”

Finally I have someone to talk language-nerd talk to. Recently she has begun to pretend she is someone else in the family. “I’m being Daddy,” she says, putting on her red dress-up glasses. “Dans ce cas, pourquoi tu parles en anglais et pas en français comme moi ?” asks her dad (In that case why are you speaking English, not French like me?)

Her response: “I’m being Daddy talking to Mummy.”

We still speak predominantly English as a couple, but much more French than before. Her French is also coming on in leaps and bounds, but her expression has again dropped slightly behind her English. However, we’ll be swapping the churros for croissants and spending a chunk of the summer in France, so I can ease up worrying about that Anglo-dominant tidal wave swallowing her up just yet.

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