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I don’t see my baby any more. She’ll always be my baby regardless of age, but I see a small child – who’s my baby.

I don’t feel like my baby is a part of me any more. Sure, she copies me – often right down to the accent – but she is her own person with her own wilful ways.

My baby is growing up. Earlier today she told Shaun off for not sharing, and came up with a phrase along the lines of “well, we’ll all have to have a think about that then, won’t we?” just like we’d say to her. It was terribly funny. It’s hard not to laugh at what she says for risk of hurting her feelings. It is funny though.

My baby is still my baby when she’s tired. When she’ll climb onto my knee at night and we’ll sit together once more on our nursing chair we’ve had since she was born. We’d sit together at 5am cuddling when she was tiny – I’d feed her and cuddle her and it was all I ever wanted. Now we sit at 11pm and cuddle because we both still fit on there together – and the rocking is nice too. The feeding stopped a year ago.

My baby stamps her foot when she wants to be noticed. Big time. She shouts too. She doesn’t get her own way and she’s always noticed, she’s just starting to learn she sometimes has to wait her turn.

My baby is funny. She tells jokes which aren’t funny in a tone of voice which is hilarious. “Why did the cow roll down the hill? BECAUSEHEFELLOVER!!!!!!!11!!!!11!!!!” sort of thing.

My baby doesn’t like being corrected. I never did either. I’m sorry, but no child of mine gets words to songs wrong when they’re from my favourite musicals, that’s all. I won’t scribble on your words like my mum did though. She was probably doing the same. Nothing like some oddball family tradition there.

My baby is great. That’s all. She’s not my baby any more, but she always will be.