Opening The Poop's fingers I encouraged her to allow her palms to meet in order to generate the elusive noise she clearly craved. After a couple of successful attempts, Boo threw me off, with an "I know, I know, now get out of the way" jostle that I'm sure will become increasingly familiar over the coming months and years.
Then...she clapped. WITH SOUND.
She then looked to me, her eyes wide with delight and waited for the impending fanfare. I cheered, roared, hip hipped, sang, chanted, whooped and danced about. She looked at me with a slightly disappointed air, as if my lack of an actual cartwheel suggested I wasn't really proud. Little sod.
To give me a chance to redeem myself, she clapped again. Fortunately, it was at this very moment that Dave returned from work, and was able to run in and add an additional element of merriment to the previously deficient gala of joy. As he entered the lounge to news of our daughter's latest accomplishment, we both immediately broke into the pre arranged carnival of back flips, Highland jigs, fire eating, synchronised dance moves and a costly programme of pyrotechnics set to music.
The Poop observed the spectacle wheeled out by her browbeaten parents to commemorate this historic occasion and, suitably impressed upon its conclusion, she showed off by rewarding our efforts with three or four well placed perceptible claps on the run.
Oh God. Now she'd gone and done her very first ever round of applause. So we gave back word to Elton John and he turned up to belt out 'Clapping In The Wind' (why 'In The Wind' I dunno. I didn't ask; I didn't want to look ungrateful).