Three years ago. THREE years. My little girl came into the world after a long labour. I couldn’t believe my luck when she was born, a baby made just for me, exactly as I had dreamed with her chubby little face and her head full of hair. She was so knowing straight away, she’d been listening away in my belly for months.
She has entirely changed my world and she is utterly perfect for us. Outgoing, clever, so strong-willed, adventurous, brave, kind and loving. She wants to be a pilot when she gets bigger. She is scared of foxes. She loves helicopters. She has been skiing, kayaking, snorkelling and ice-skating. She’s been water-skiing (in a biscuit) and loves to “rock climb”. She loves singing. She hates babysitters and reminds me every night (even though she has only had the one night’s experience). She can count to 40 and read lots of words. She is is the craziest swimmer I have ever seen and spends at least 80% of her time underwater. She’s such a little character. She uses words like hilarious, devastated (“debastasted”), horrified, frustrated (“shrustrated”), ridiculous and FAN-tastic regularly (eg. Eating with her feet on the dining table and telling me, “Dad. Would. Be. Horrified!”). Her favourite play is always the mother with her babies. She has been toilet trained day and night for around 6mths. She loves Playschool and Peppa Pig. She honestly thinks that she is so huge, even though she is well below average height (well above average weight and head size off the chart!!). She eats everything and would eat cucumber or avocado all day. If I ask what she would like for tea, she invariably says, “Roast”. She climbs into our bed and sleeps curled up next to me every night (sometimes I can’t sleep until I hear the little footsteps heading in and then feel the little arm slip under my neck). She is loved beyond anything that I can even comprehend, my dear little three year old daughter.