A mother first

With every day that passes, my big girl is becoming more articulate, more confident in conversation, more developed in her sentence structure and more hilarious. We're a dry, sarcastic humour kind of household, and she's starting to get that. Her ability to do stuff baffles me, and her little sister kicking around the house just opens my eyes to how much stuff these kiddies learn in the first years of their lives. It's astounding.

But with the articulate, chatty and bold little girl comes a more sophisticated trouble maker too; the ability to actively go against what you've asked, procrastination that would challenge my own, problem solving that makes me realise although she will always be my baby, she just isn't a baby any more.

At nap time, I found her standing on top of her beautiful wooden walker that has lived in her room for some time, about to straddle the baby gate and make her escape. I had to take a breath to stop myself from laughing, and force myself not to applaud her ingenuity. I had to tell her off for this one.

I had to be her mother first and her friend second.

She was not best pleased. But one day she may thank me for saving her from a tricky situation, and hopefully the walker will be good for her sister and to pass on to her own children. I can still be sentimental.

A mother first.