Where’s your nose?

“Babess!  Where’s your…  tummy?”

She grinned and pulled up her t-shirt, slapped her belly.  I had to laugh.  “You don’t have to undress!  Where’s your… foot?”  She patted her foot, and said “Toes!”

“OK, then, where are your toes?”  More grins as she wiggled them and pointed.  “Where are your… hands?”  She waved at me.  “Where’s your…  head?”  Hands right up top straight away.

“Where’s your… nose?”  With astonishing deftness and accuracy, and a cheeky laugh, she lunged and poked me on my nose.  I burst out laughing.  “That’s Mummy’s nose!  Where’s yours?”  She just looked at me, so I reached out and touched her nose gently.  “There it is!”

That’s how the game used to go, has gone, for quite a while now.  Until tonight.  Tonight she gave me her sly look and pointed to her own nose.  Another era passes.


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