Five is a funny old age. You’re out of toddler-hood, but you like lots of the things you liked when you were three.

You believe you should be treated equally, as in, the same as mummy and daddy. Especially when it comes to food portion sizes, mainly prawn crackers or poppodums.

You play at the park, but you’re the bigger child now – the one we cursed back when you were a baby and the big kids wanted to play, and did. The one we got nervous about in case they knocked you over.

grove park

You’re picking up some great phrases we say. “Oh. My. Gosh” is a much-repeated one (with appropriate gasp), and the Pirate Ship swing at Chessington “freaked the life out of me” apparently. There was another phrase when something didn’t go her way which was used in the correct context, so much that we both had to stop ourselves from laughing.

You recognise One Direction songs I’ve never heard in my life. How do you even know them?!

You recognise contestants on The Voice. I have trouble remembering any of their names, yet you take it all in – except when the show is on you spend most of the time dancing around the room to the songs rather than watching. But you still remember. HOW?!

You’re just starting to read your first Harry Potter book. We’re treading carefully, taking it slowly. There is no rush. So far you’re enjoying it.

You still want to sit in the baby swings despite being able to use the grown up ones. You sometimes manage to get in them (I have no idea how) and get stuck getting out.

A book seller came to school. The first book you chose to buy was a Peppa Pig one. I’ve just given all of your old ones away. You hadn’t noticed I did this. I persuaded you to get a different book which was better suited to your reading level. Fortunately you did.

Stamping your feet and going upstairs, throwing yourself onto your bed is the mode of anger these days. It doesn’t actually work as most of the time mummy starts giggling as it’s quite funny. This also doesn’t help matters and makes you even angrier. Sorry.

You can stand up in assembly or during the school play to speak your lines, but you get shy when it’s your turn to lead all the girls at Rainbows.

You’re still able to be persuaded to finish your home learning each week, but I’m not sure how much longer I can trick you – getting you to do three quarters of it and then saying “oh you may as well finish it” – which you do. Every time.

You’re also ridiculously loving, thoughtful, kind, caring and so much more. If I have a headache you’ll cuddle up alongside me and rub my head “to make it feel better”. You like to share things with your friends. You love being with your friends. You see things and say that your friends would like them.

But yet we’re stuck in this weird time, part baby, part young girl, growing up, but not too fast. But it’s all too fast. I want things to slow down again.

I don’t want to change anything though. Apart from maybe that piercing scream you do from time to time as it really hurts my ears.