text: Mrs. Lyons bent down as much as she could and pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose. She stuck a shaking hand into Rosemary's hair and ran it through her knobbly fingers. “Aww. She's a pretty wee lassie you've got there,” said Mrs. Lyons. “Aye, aye, she's alright,” I answered, laughing a bit. I patted Rosemary's head. “Beep blop boop,” said Rosie. Rosemary had been behaving strangely since she watched one of those crazy old kid's programmes on the BBC that they only show when it's so early it's still dark outside. It was one of those ones from the 80s or 90s that bring on an immediate headache as soon as the horrible title music starts, along with that sick feeling that lets you know that you're up too early. There was this robot puppet guy in it. I think he was a friend of the main character or something, but it seemed like this episode was about him. I only really began to watch it halfway through, my attention (and alarm) summoned by the clear five minutes of silence that had passed in the living room. I stuck my head round the door to make sure that my daughter was indeed still on the rug where I had left her. She was, and transfixed at that - mouth open a little, eyes focused still. I hadn't seen her move so little in perhaps her entire life; even in her sleeping hours Rosie raged against inertia. I came in and stood behind her and joined in watching, amazed, hoping that I might be able to absorb and harness for myself any of the apparently hypnotic powers that the television show was exhibiting. To me it seemed the basic plot pattern was that this ragdoll girl - who seemed to be the focus of the programme - would walk around the 'village' with the robot and show him some particular human being activity. The two I saw were drinking tea and painting. The problem was that since he was a robot, he didn't have a mouth (or digestive tract) and therefore couldn't consume tea, and he couldn't seem to paint anything except squares and rectangles on his canvas. Ragdoll was getting melancholy because they had nothing they could do together. She opted to try one last activity, dancing, but admitted that she couldn't really show him how to do it because she was a terrible dancer. To Ragdoll's, mines and Rosemary's surprise, as soon as that music kicked in, Robot needed no instruction anyway, and was busting moves like nobody's business (well, really, busting 'move'. Specifically, the Robot). He was a natural. “Beep blop boop, beep boop boop,” he said as he cruised around on his wheels. Ragdoll started joining in with the dance. They had found something to do together. “Did you like that, Rosie?” I asked when the credits were on the screen. “Beep boop boop,” answered my daughter. We met Mrs. Lyons in Tesco three days later. In the interim I had not heard my three-year-old produce a single utterance that wasn't compiled of some combination of 'beep', 'boop' and 'bop'. Oh, and how could I forget - 'blop'. It was actually kind of funny at first, like our own little private joke about how daft it all was. I enjoyed it especially when I took her out in public and she showed off her new vocabulary to unsuspecting old ladies. However, Mrs. Lyons was now maybe the fourth person to fit that description and the whole Robot Girl thing was beginning to seem less humorous and more like my daughter really was a robot that needed a few bolts tightened. Mrs. Lyons' eyes widened, then she laughed. “Oh, that's funny,” she said, while booping Rosie on the nose. “Well, it was lovely to see the both of you. I really do hope you're keeping alright, Stephen.” I smiled and said we were. I waved and mouthed goodbye as Mrs. Lyons made her slow retreat into the aisles, and kept looking over at Rosie to try and make her imitate me. She could not have possibly seemed to hold any less of an interest in the situation, though, and stared open-mouthed down from her seat at the handle of the trolley, then started bashing it with her palms. I looked at Mrs. Lyons and we laughed, but when the old lady was gone I lifted Rosie out of her seat and held her in front of me so that we were face to face. “What's going on with you, little one?” I asked. “Why won't you talk to anyone? You know loads of words. You're always so chatty.” She looked me in the eyes silently for a second, as if she understood. “Beep,” she said. I sighed and put her back in the trolley. Next on the day's agenda was a visit to my sister's. We took a route by the country roads. At three, kids have a really, really short attention span and I realised she hadn't been out the house very much in the last few days - nursery was on holiday for a few weeks - and maybe if I exposed her to some fresh stimuli (cows, sheep and hills were all previous show stealers) she might switch her attention to one of those and forget about the whole robot noises thing. I craned my neck round to see her in the car seat, and check what she was looking at. “Do you see those wee white things on the grass away over there? What are they called again Rosie?” For one lovely short moment I thought she said 'sheep', but no. Just a 'beep'. I look onwards towards my sister's. We arrived quite quickly. After a few minutes of Rosemary's making Abigail laugh I pointed to the toys in the corner of the lounge and talked in excited tones until she plodded off to amuse herself amongst them for a bit. At least she still got a kick out of all the usual colours and sounds. I had been half worried that she'd start taking an interest in the washing machine or gas meter. I sat down at the other side of the room with Abigail and explained, between sips of coffee, what had been happening. “I'm just worried about her.” I said. “Oh Stephen,” said my sister. “It's not worth getting worked up about. It'll just be a wee phase. I remember when Connor was little he wouldn't get into bed without us first telling him that Emma, each of his teddies and the dog were all already sleeping. We - or, well, I - had all these visions of him as a grown man stoating about at night checking everyone's rooms. But he grew out of it. They always do.” “Hmm,” I said. I wanted to say 'this is different', but to a competing parent that garners nothing but the all-knowing smile. “I don't know. It's just getting a little bit beyond a joke at this point; it's starting to concern me.” “Rosie will be fine, Steve. It's you I'm more worried about. How are you getting on, really?” “What?” I asked. “Oh. Oh, I'm fine, I'm fine. Good and bad days, you know.” There was a lull. “I'm going to speak to Dr. Ford after this, actually.” “Oh, good, that's great. I love Dr. Ford. He's a fantastic therapist. Speaking of Connor, actually, Ford really helped me with him. He helped me push through that first year. He was a brilliant help.” “Aye, I remember,” I said. We both took gulps from our mugs. “It's not always so easy, having kids.” Abigail nodded slowly. I was focused on my cup but I could feel that her eyes were still on me. Rosie came ambling over. She looked tired. “We better get going,” I said, checking my watch. “That appointment is gaining on us, can't keep the doc waiting.” We all hugged at the door and Rosie didn't say anything - not even a beep.