Three candles for Maisie Mouse

To our littlest big girl, Maisie Mouse,

Today is your third birthday. You have danced endlessly, laughed with your whole belly, delighted in your Barbie birthday cake, been annoyed when splashed with cold water in the paddling pool, swung joyously on the playground swings, cut a wooden birthday cake and served it to your family, and unwrapped many lovely presents.

You spoke to your family on the phone, just like a big girl. When asked how old you were, you exclaimed proudly "Free!", while holding up five fingers. You changed your outfit approximately four times. You were so excited to see the pink balloons and bunting festooning the house in your honour. To see your face when we all finally, finally, sang 'Happy Birthday' to you (an event you had been waiting for for about a month) was priceless.

At three years old, you are a longer-legged, chattier, more stubborn version of your baby self. You can be the sweetest little girl alive, all sunshine and light and sharing...but woe betide anyone who tries to "share" the Barbie you are playing with. You adore Jack and Beebee to the moon, but you are completely aware that they both think the sun shines out of you. You know that they will give in to you 99% of the time. You have Jack twisted completely around your little finger, and Phoebs would give her last dolly to you. And frequently does.

You rarely stop talking (which in our household is considered entirely normal). You use a sing-song baby voice for Daisy and Asha (and the majority of your baby dolls who have been behaving nicely). You use a wheedling, persistant voice to get someone (ANYONE!) to put on a Wiggles DVD any chance you get. You have a cross, completely hilarious stern voice (scarily close to my own) that you use on anyone who must "Stay dere! Wait a minute. I tum back, ok? Stay dere", complete with hand actions and finger pointing.

You still speak of lot of curly toddler-gibberish, interspersed with comprehensible words. I could listen to you talk for hours...and quite frequently, I do. You sing incessantly, and in the past month or so have butchered several Christmas carols repeatedly. You never let the lack of a melody hold you back. We had a delightful few weeks listening to you sing "Baa baa black sh!t", and quite frankly, I miss your Mousian version of Happy Birthday. Although we originally thought you were singing "I poo on my head" (which brought enough mirth on its' own, believe me!), apparently you were singing, "Ah poo were where wet! Ah poo were where wet!" which translates directly into the standard, boring lyrics for Happy Birthday. The only reason we know this is because the tune stayed more or less the same. And you sang it, ad nauseum, whenever candles or cakes were spied. Clever little mouse.

You are a great one for giving me directions whilst driving ("Not dis way, Mumma! Dat way!") and pointing out places that you know ("Mumma! Look! Mine swimming!! Paddle, paddle, kick, kick!! Look!!!!" and "Mumma! Mine kinder!! Look!"). You have the scary ability to smell a playground (unseen by any adult eye) 10km away. Any sight of any water at all unleashes cries of "Bitch! Bitch!", which of course, means that you love swimming. Obviously. (Except recently, all water is now a "ribber". Even the bath.)

You say the sweetest things at the funniest times. Such as the day you were popping out to the shops with your Daddy, and you came to me at the kitchen sink and whispered, "Have fun washing da dishes, Mumma". Or when, any time I would go to the supermarket without you, you would insist I had been to the doctors. "Your tummy sore, Mumma?" You will grab my head in both hands, pull it down towards yours, and whisper things so softly into my ear that I cannot understand a word. Usually, messages like this end with "I you, Mumma". Which simply means, I love you Mumma. Which breaks my heart every single time. Even when you've just been a completely stubborn little cow.

You are such a Mumma's girl, and I love it. I think the fact you slept in our bed nearly every night for the first year of your life (the easiest way to keep you quiet while living with Grandma and Grandpa!) has spoiled both of us, because I still feel happiest lying with you in my arms. Yesterday you had a very high temperature and were a little bundle of misery. I stripped you off and placed your bare chest on mine, just as I did when you were tiny and had colic. I'm not sure who was calmed more - me, or you.

Whenever we are preparing to go somewhere, you always need to check where I will be. "I stay Mumma? I stay Mumma." Thank goodness you are now happy to go off to kinder. Considering that we have been attached at the hip for the first 2 and a half years of your life, I am eternally grateful that you will happily toddle off for a day at kinder...as long as I come back! I love the fact that every single time I come to collect you from daycare, you barrel across the room and snatch me around my knees, bellowing at anyone who will listen, "My Mummy! My Mummy came back!", and then gleefully return to whatever you were doing before I entered the room. I love that.

At three years old, you are quite simply, a delight. A funny, affectionate, stubborn, whimsical, musical, endearing, dog-cuddling, cat-harrassing, sibling-dominating, delight. Without you in our lives, the sunshine would be behind a cloud. Being your mother makes me indescribably happy. Thank you for being you.

Happy birthday, my Maisie Maisie Mouse.

All my love,
Mumma xxx