Fic: 15 Months In
Title: 15 Months In
Rating: PG
Pairings: Ten/Rose, Baby
Genre: Flufferoo
Disclaimer: They ain't mine
Author's Note: *BIG HUGS TO EVERYBODY* Thanks for all the feedback!
Summary: I could be in danger of spoiling you rotten.
under the cut
Dear Sally,
Welcome to fifteen months! Guess what you did!
No, really, guess.
No ideas?
You climbed the stairs in the wardrobe! It was a bit of a struggle, and I almost fainted by the time you got to the top, but you did it! I’m very proud.
And apparently I was wrong about the Duckie of Omega. He’s been bound to your crib, while The Teddy of Rassilon never leaves your side.
You, my Sally, have been babbling your head off. Real words, and made-up words, and you’ve even said a couple of words in Gallifreyan, which is interesting, since I usually speak to you in English. But you pointed to Mummy and called her Mummy in Gallifreyan. I suppose I’ll have to start speaking it to you all the time. Doesn’t hurt to be bilingual, even if you live in a time machine/space ship that can translate languages in your head.
I pulled out Every Gallifreyan Child's Pop-Up Book of Nasty Creatures From Other Dimensions, and you love it. Mummy’s a little worried it might be too scary for you, but you look at the Gfasrigal Sea Monster and giggle every single time. My Sally isn’t afraid of anything.
That’s the second time I’ve called you that in this letter, do you realize that? “My Sally.” Hm. It occurs to me that my doting on you has increased since you’ve learned basic language and motor functions. I guess I’m just proud. I mean, when you were born all you could do was cry, sleep and soil yourself. That’s not really much to be proud of, is it? Oh, don’t take it like that, you were gorgeous when you were born, but you were just starting out. Tiny little hands and tiny little brains and tiny little everything.
And now here you are, fifteen months late, climbing stares and giggling at Gfasrigal Sea Monsters. It’s brilliant. It deserves ice cream and new toys.
I could be in danger of spoiling you rotten.
Though I did lay down the law when you threw a slice of banana at my head. I said “Don’t do that. That’s not nice. Don’t throw food.” And you looked at me for a moment and then you didn’t throw food again. So your ability to comprehend simple concepts is developing as well. And I didn’t even use the word no.
Though you do. Often. To nearly everything we say. Mummy says it’s bath time, you say no. I tell you there are 649093 light years between Raxicoricofalapatorious and Earth, and you say no. Uncle Jack says needs a shag, and you say no.
Though that last one was rather entertaining.
Recently, you’ve met a new playmate. Mummy’s friend Keisha has a daughter who is your age, and you two have been playing quite nicely together. Tessa’s nice, and you two get along very well, even if you do hog the building blocks sometimes.
We need to work on sharing a bit, I think.
Your Dad,
The Doctor
Rating: PG
Pairings: Ten/Rose, Baby
Genre: Flufferoo
Disclaimer: They ain't mine
Author's Note: *BIG HUGS TO EVERYBODY* Thanks for all the feedback!
Summary: I could be in danger of spoiling you rotten.
under the cut
Dear Sally,
Welcome to fifteen months! Guess what you did!
No, really, guess.
No ideas?
You climbed the stairs in the wardrobe! It was a bit of a struggle, and I almost fainted by the time you got to the top, but you did it! I’m very proud.
And apparently I was wrong about the Duckie of Omega. He’s been bound to your crib, while The Teddy of Rassilon never leaves your side.
You, my Sally, have been babbling your head off. Real words, and made-up words, and you’ve even said a couple of words in Gallifreyan, which is interesting, since I usually speak to you in English. But you pointed to Mummy and called her Mummy in Gallifreyan. I suppose I’ll have to start speaking it to you all the time. Doesn’t hurt to be bilingual, even if you live in a time machine/space ship that can translate languages in your head.
I pulled out Every Gallifreyan Child's Pop-Up Book of Nasty Creatures From Other Dimensions, and you love it. Mummy’s a little worried it might be too scary for you, but you look at the Gfasrigal Sea Monster and giggle every single time. My Sally isn’t afraid of anything.
That’s the second time I’ve called you that in this letter, do you realize that? “My Sally.” Hm. It occurs to me that my doting on you has increased since you’ve learned basic language and motor functions. I guess I’m just proud. I mean, when you were born all you could do was cry, sleep and soil yourself. That’s not really much to be proud of, is it? Oh, don’t take it like that, you were gorgeous when you were born, but you were just starting out. Tiny little hands and tiny little brains and tiny little everything.
And now here you are, fifteen months late, climbing stares and giggling at Gfasrigal Sea Monsters. It’s brilliant. It deserves ice cream and new toys.
I could be in danger of spoiling you rotten.
Though I did lay down the law when you threw a slice of banana at my head. I said “Don’t do that. That’s not nice. Don’t throw food.” And you looked at me for a moment and then you didn’t throw food again. So your ability to comprehend simple concepts is developing as well. And I didn’t even use the word no.
Though you do. Often. To nearly everything we say. Mummy says it’s bath time, you say no. I tell you there are 649093 light years between Raxicoricofalapatorious and Earth, and you say no. Uncle Jack says needs a shag, and you say no.
Though that last one was rather entertaining.
Recently, you’ve met a new playmate. Mummy’s friend Keisha has a daughter who is your age, and you two have been playing quite nicely together. Tessa’s nice, and you two get along very well, even if you do hog the building blocks sometimes.
We need to work on sharing a bit, I think.
Your Dad,
The Doctor