We made it! I am number 4.

Little A Princess Banana, future futurist, designer of grand designs, thinker of big thinks, has turned 4. I feel exhausted, and elated. She is a whirling dervish, quite literally.

Whirling dervish

Earlier last year Little A was annoyed by her fringe being in the way, and in the quintessential childhood rite of passage, she took the only sensible course of action, and chopped it off. There. Much better. She could see clearly now the hair had gone. All of the bad feelings had disappeared. Mummy’s? Well. I had a little cry on my own time.

It’s a pretty bad hair day, but she pulls it off amazingly well.

She loves fiercely and strongly, and is very protective of her sister, showing astounding levels of empathy for such a little being. When she’s not feeling all of the empathy, she takes her for a ride. Yes, like a horse.

Taking her sister for a ride. As you do.

I admit, I find her a challenge. As Katy Perry so eloquently sings, ‘Baby you’re a Firework’, and she’s intense. Her intelligence and non-stop chatter and questions and talking can get tiring, and her demands wearing. The tantrums? Well.. they are still those of a 3-year old. She wants what she wants. NOW. But she wants ME – because she loves me so, so, so, much. She’s beautiful, and creative, and she makes me melt. She’s been a little force ever since she was in the womb (now THERE’S a story for another day – stay tuned) and has been kick, kick, kicking while my womb kick kick kicked her back. They fought and she won. She loves to sunbake, she loves to dress like a Vogue fashion-designer, and she made an old man very happy before he passed away a few weeks ago.

Not yet embracing the ‘less is more’ approach to styling …

Little A and Pa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even her quiet birthday at home on Wednesday was punctuated with Little A-shaped highlights. She committed her first shoplifting offence, which I have rectified, thankfully, so her record is still unbesmirched at her tender age. She loved a hat so much that she ripped the tags off and parked it firmly on her head, and was still wearing it, unnoticed by me, until she took it off and threw it down on the shopping centre floor 10 minutes later in a fit of rage (over an unrelated matter), at which point I noticed its continued presence. Oops. Back to the shop to pay.

Wearing the offending birthday hat

We experienced a hairy moment with the remote-control car (again, quite literally), and found that turning four can age you, very very, terrifyingly badly.

OH. MY. GOD. I’m FOUR.

Car eats hair. On head. Tears.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It wouldn’t have been little A’s birthday without a few ‘events’. Happy birthday beautiful girl, with all of my love. xxx