I've got one hand in my pocket and the other one's holding a baby-latte

I looked after my friend's little boy today. His name is Levi and honestly honestly I think I could sit and chat to him forever. I say chat when what I really mean is listen carefully to his baby-babble, desperately trying to decipher what he's saying. He's nearly two but I swear when he finished his sentence and looked up at me with his big blue eyes, one hand in his pocket and the other raised to the sky, like: 'That's my opinion on the economic crisis, now tell me yours' right at that moment, I could've sworn he's actually fifteen.

We went to Juicy Tunes, a weekly sing-along event hosted by a man with a red tracksuit, guitar and bubble machine. It seems that this is all you need to make toddlers squeal with sheer unreserved joy, and bop their chubby little bodies clumsily around the play mats, but not Levi. Oh No. He's not fooled easily.

While we were doing the actions to Row, Row, Row Your Boat he looked me straight in the eye, his face a picture of earnest disapprovement as if to say: 'You do realise we are not in a real boat, right? I mean I know you're trying to recreate the actions of a real boat with your arms, but really you're making us both look ridiculous.' He seemed to have a similar disdain for Wind The Bobbin Up (obviously there's not a real bobbin here, do you think I'm stupid?) Head Shoulders Knees and Toes (I already know where all my body parts are, duh) and Hokey Cokey (this song is dumb).

It was only when red tracksuit man had downed his guitar to go and flirt with Clapham's Yummy Mummys, and most of the children had dispersed, that Levi decided to take to the dance mats. Coyly at first he edged his way into the middle, hands firmly in pockets. When he got there he stood for a while as if assessing the ambience, his right foot pointed forwards casually poked the mat while he double checked that no one was looking, and then, then he danced. Side to side, round and round, hands in the air, he danced to the rhythm of his own song, which I'm guessing wasn't Ring a Ring o' Roses.

He stopped suddenly, thrust his hands back into his pockets, and walked towards me nonchalantly staring up through his fringe as though there was no way on earth he had been lost in wild dance-abandon moments earlier. When he reached me I knelt down and said: "Did you have a good dance, Levi?" If a two year old could actually shrug then that is what he definitely did, he shrugged like: "Might have done. Might not have done."

"You're a good little dancer aren't you, Levi." I said, poking his chubby little belly, and he flashed me a sheepish grin which turned into a full-on cheeky smile, roughly translated as: "Stop! You're so totally embarrassing me...now lets get out of here and find us some baby-lattes."