Getting big

Phoebalina Ballerina is on my lap. You know how usually confident, sassy three-year-olds can occasionally fall in a little puddle of clinginess? That's my Phoebe today. She's sitting on my lap asking if she can press the buttons. Here is my indulgence of this little whim:

gtuuhjhjjkjkjkjkjjjjjjjkljklxxcvbvffccvccbvcfhvghhbbbbvcvcvx. Ah, it's a great game. She wants to know if it's her turn again after I have my turn. I want to know if it's my turn to go to bed at 6.30pm.

Isn't it funny how kids are so desperate to be grown up, and want to do everything Mummy and Daddy do? Personally, I'd give a lot to be 27 again (not any younger, though. It would pain me greatly to be a teenager again, and to be frank much of my early twenties was spent either at uni, the pub, or in angst over boys. If I could have my 23rd year again, travelling in the UK and US, backpacking and working at camp, that'd be great. Then I'd skip straight to 27...) 27 was an awesome age. I had a pretty good body (I just didn't realise it at the time!), I had a great job I loved, a gorgeous boyfriend (and before you get all fired up, Christian, it was you, ok?), and the most pressing commitment I had was my kitten, Ernie. The funny thing is, I knew I had it good then, so I made the most of it. And every year since then, it's just gotten better and better, to the point where I now have a scrumptious three year old daughter sitting on my lap, trying to press 'buttons' on my laptop and asking why we kiss, while giving me kisses. "I love you, Mum." "I love you too, Phoebe." "Mum, I really love you." "I really love you too, Phoebs." "Mum? I have boogers in my nose." Yes, Yes, you do.

Of course, every stage in life is about learning. Currently, I'm learning how to juggle three kidlets, a broken husband, imminent Christmas madness and the perks of unemployment. Christian is learning how to relax, allow his body to recuperate, and pay for the imminent Christmas madness while we have no salary. Jack is learning how to control his temper, and control his excitement and nervousness about starting Big School. Phoebe is learning that wiping your pooey bottom with your hands will make Mummy quite cross, especially if you do it twice in one day. Maisie is learning how to chase the cat (although she is trying to do this without crawling - I think she is trying to go straight from rolling to running...it's not working). Every age is interesting, and different, and difficult in some way or another. At this very moment, Phoebe is learning how loudly she can scream at us to show that she does not need to go to bed. This is proving to be a very difficult task for her, and considering the strain her voice is under, one that I do not envy! Christian and I are learning how to not laugh uproariously at Phoebe's temper. This is also proving to be quite a difficult task.

I remember my mum telling me not to wish my life away when I was a little girl. Like most kids I was desperate to be older - why, I don't know! Now my own kids are all trying to be bigger than they are - Phoebe even corrected Santa (oh so politely) when he kept calling her a little girl. "A big girl, Santa," she whispered continuously. Every little thing they learn, and every day we have makes us a little bit older. On the one hand I am grateful to have three kids who learn something new every day (and I am especially grateful that three pregnancies have not rendered my brain so completely useless that it is unable to learn!) On the other hand, I realise that every little trick or skill or piece of information that they learn takes them one step closer to being big. And as desperate as I am to retain my youthful 34 years, I am more desperate to retain my kidlets' childhoods...for a while, at least. Lord help me when they are teenagers and have learned absolutely everything!