My littlest turned the grand old age of six this week. Six is a big deal when you are only five. Six holds promise of proper big-girl stuff and the vague possibility that you might actually be catching up with your big sister in the age stakes. Six means you get to have the swimming pool party that you have been coveting for absolutely aaaaages. Six is special.
For me, six means that the chubby-cheeked very-weeny-girl days are definitely over. Already fiercely independant after over a year at school, she now trots into class without even a backwards glance. This of course, makes me feel simultaneously proud whilst a little part of me gets that mummy-ache in my stomach.
Luckily, six still means that she daily asks for ‘mummy-huggies’ and can curl up in my lap completely, thumb in and sit there for ages. Six means that she still reaches to hold my hand whilst we walk to school. And six means that she still likes me to sing a song at bedtime, whilst stroking her hair.
I am going to treasure six. Before I know it, seven will be knocking on the door.