I'll take a toddler, please.

Don't get me wrong, new borns are divine, and babies are cute, and the wobbly starts to toddlerhood filled me with pride. But I am LOVING being the mother of a toddler and I'd quite happily keep my 21 month old as a 21 month old forever.

Yes, they're scrumptious when they've got too much skin with their milky smiles and tight grip. But she was kiiiiind of boring as a new born, although the house was sparkling... And while I am desperately excited about having my own new born again - and of course I'll take this all back then - I could happily fast forward the first 6 months, retrospectively.

Because I love having a proper conversation with my kid. About nothing particularly exciting, other than having a poo, or what colour the spoon is, or which friends she saw at nursery. I love that she can ask for what she wants and I don't have to guess. I love that she has preferences, and has her own mind and can get on with it with not much help. I love that I can go to the park without nappies and not worry about poonami. Or the pram. And that I can pop anywhere to get her a drink if I forget her beaker.

She is independent. She is brave. She is strong willed. But she is caring, and loving, and full of sunshine. She is great company and such good fun.

But I love the last of the baby features that still remain. That pot belly, the chubby thighs, the sleepy cuddles and the innocence and naivety that a toddler possesses for too short a time. 

I can't wait to have two. And I can't wait to strut my double buggy about. But I am also dreading the need to plan a little bit more carefully again, the need to go back to precision timing. I am enjoying the spontaneity of a toddler too much. 

It keeps getting better and better. I'll look back when my toddler is starting school and wonder what I was raving about. But if time stopped right now, I wouldn't complain.

7 weeks. The first hints of spring are on their way, I think. My belly feels fit to burst.

All change, please. I think.