Except that until this week, M-little didn't have anything other than some teeny tiny teething balls. On sunny days I take him to the grounds of M-big's university, and when he screamed at some students kicking a football about one day, I knew we'd committed a huge parenting crime. The child. did not. have a ball.
So, although we try not to impulse-buy him toys, on the way home we bought a ball. A Peppa Pig* ball, no less.
He was thrilled. Tickled pink. Pulled an all Christmasses come at once kind of face. Of course we couldn't go straight home - we had to stop off at another playground to have a go with it.
I have never seen him regard other children so suspiciously. The place was packed, but if anyone came with two metres of him he'd scream. Just in case anyone was in any doubt that it was HIS ball.
I only had my phone camera so the pictures aren't very good, but this is him ignoring his normally-beloved swings completely, and keeping a careful eye out for potential ball-thieves. Did I mention it's HIS ball?
*Peppa Pig. I know. I can hear your groans. But the thing is, I actually quite like Peppa Pig. It is just so ENGLISH and when you live abroad, any silly little reminder of home takes on extra-special significance. Besides, that episode where Peppa goes on holiday to Italy and it's bucketing with rain in the UK? Harharhar.