Balloons, bubbles and ballet shoes

This weekend marks the third birthday of the inimitable Miss I. How this has happened is quite beyond me. I can remember learning of her existence like it was yesterday. I remember my tummy growing with her and, lord only knows, I will always remember giving birth to her. In the three years that have passed since that long day my world has changed irrevocably. So while I can vividly remember so many milestones – big and small - in Miss I’s life I can barely recall life before her. I vaguely remember what it was like to wake up and not have a little person, or two, to look after but I forget how that felt or worked.

Around here I make a point of being really honest about living in a zoo with small children. I tell you how it feels to flirt with the possibility that you’re raising a violent sociopath or rearing a raging terrorist. I tell you that there are times when I feel like I’m doing it all wrong and I tell you when I realise that, maybe, I’m doing some bits right. What I don’t always tell you is that I am in the throes of a mad love affair. That on a daily basis my heart rushes with so much love that it is both thrilling and terrifying. That I am often overwhelmed, in the best possible way, by it. My love for Miss I and Miss L knows no bounds; it is visceral and raw and physical and lovely.

There have been so many moments throughout the past three years where I’ve concluded, either quietly on my own or in conversation with Mr G, that I couldn’t possibly ever love Miss I more than I did in that particular moment in time. That my heart would never again melt in a moment quite like that or that nothing would ever make my soul sing like she did that one time. That she would never again make me laugh quite so much. And yet those moments keep coming. My heart melts, my soul sings and I keep laughing. 

When Miss I turned one I thought my love for her had formed and was, in a sense, complete. It wasn’t. This weekend she’s turning three and the truth is my love has grown more than she has, which, in lots of ways, is even scarier than housing a terrorist in training. It is every parent’s prerogative to see the absolute best in their children so take this with a grain (or kilo) of salt. There are days when I watch Miss I and I wonder what on earth we did to deserve her. (The wonderful irony, of course, being the other times when I wonder the same thing "What did I do to deserve this??" in a completely different vain.)  

She is a headstrong toddler who regularly drives me to despair but she also has this spark of life that I never want to live without. She is fun and funny and doesn’t miss a beat. If I could I would bottle her up and sell her around the world just so others could share in the comedy that is life with Miss I.  

If I change so much as my socks, let alone my shoes or earrings, without her counsel, she immediately asks, “Why you change that Mummy?” eyeing me up and down, obviously disapproving of the fact she wasn’t consulted. 

When I use my angry voice to ask her to stop doing something she almost always retorts back, in exactly my tone, “Mummy, you don’t talk to me like that! I get cross when you no listen to me.”

When I accidentally put vegemite on her toast one morning when she said she didn’t want it and for the next four nights, as I kiss her goodnight, she cautions me urgently, “Mummy next time you no use vegemite otay?”

When we’re in the car and Miss L is crying loudly enough that neighbouring cars are probably concerned and Miss I yells out “MUMMY!! LULU’s CRYING MUMMY!!” as if I might not be aware. And then says “Oh. Otay” when I indicate I am in fact aware of the crying. 

When she overheard me say to Mr G I’d had a frustrating morning at the post office and she said “Mummy maybe you go to the hopidal and feel better?”

When she watched the garbage truck come and collect our rubbish and says "Let's ring Daddy and I tell him all about it."

When I pass her a bowl of porridge and she says "Really good sharing Mummy."

When we leave the shops after buying milk and she says "Mummy! Maybe we forgot to get me a cake?"

Or when I put Peppa Pig on tv for her and she says "Good boy Mummy."

Or my current favourite melting moment when she cuddled me and whispered “I love you the whole world Mummy.”

I could go on and on but the short of it is the past three years have been something else. This birthday is particularly exciting here at NABM HQ because, for the first time, Miss I is completely aware of the occasion. She's known her birthday is in May for quite some time and has been telling everyone "My birfday coming up really noon." 

We’re having a small party in the park and for weeks Miss I’s stipulations have been the same. She wants balloons, bubbles and ballet shoes. And a Peppa Pig birthday cake but that doesn’t start with B. What fun.