Molly is 18 months old. She has burst into our lives and made us sit up and take notice.
Molly has a new word. She could have chosen no, non or nie. Instead she found her own way of telling us to get lost. Nuurr.
'Come on Molly, time for a new nappy!' I say, cheerfully. 'Nuurr!' comes the response, followed by a cheeky grin.
'Time for your pyjamas Molly', we coax. She looks at us with a degree of pity in her gaze. 'Nuurr' she disagrees, confirmed with a strong shake of the head.
'Molly, come and brush your teeth.' Marek suggests, showing her the brush. Molly flashes us a big smile and runs to the opposite end of her bedroom. 'NUURR' she shouts, ending with a squeal.
The next six months could be fun...