beckity

My little girl understands three languages but says 'brefkast', 'puputer' and 'cucoomber'. She wears the clothes of a five year old but can tantrum with the best two year old. She propels herself along on a balance bike faster than I can walk but asks Daddy to carry her up the stairs to bed. She is smart and sassy and rebellious and charming and frustrating. My baby is three.

Today I have * cleaned banana off the dining room radiator; * changed a (reuseable) nappy outside the house and had to put the dirty one, human excrement and all, into my favourite handbag; * sunk into a deep bubble bath and put my head on my bath pillow only to find it covered in baby bitemarks. I have a charmed life, I think you'll agree.

Elsie runs over, carefully shielding one cupped hand with the other. She reaches me on the blanket and picks out an almost whole raspeberry from her collection. 'For me?" I feign surprise and give her a grin. I open my mouth as wide as I can and she pops it in. 'Mmmm!' I say, and before I can take a breath, she fixes her gaze on me and says 'what you say?' I stifle a giggle. 'Thank you Elsie.' 'You're welcome Mummy!' and smiling sweetly, she stuffs the remaining raspberries in her mouth.