I knew you had perfect hearing way before you were born, because you used to jump inside my tummy at loud noises.

You got hiccups often (you still do) and sometimes they’d be so bad that holding a cup of tea was dangerous, as my tummy hiccupped with you.

When you smiled for the first time, I couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful, and when you giggled, it was as though a million tiny bells tinkled through the universe.

I lost whole hours just lying on the carpet with you, listening to those tiny bells.

You could run before you could walk! People think that’s just an old saying, but it had to come from somewhere. Patience has never been one of your things, so you used speed to propel yourself forward, and didn’t bother with the first bit – standing up, getting your balance, observing your environment, before you launched off into the great divide. You just went! (You still do.)

Do you remember the day we saw the fairies? Whirling and twirling high, high up in the sky. Magical. Perfect.

You were always active, brave, daring. There were times when I had to close my eyes because I was so scared you would fall, or hurt yourself, or that something terrible would happen. It never did, but I worried just the same.

Your first word wasn’t mum or dad, or anything predictable. Your first word was shouted at full volume across the garden, “THUG!!”. You were calling Thug, our little Jack Russell. Except you couldn’t say “th” yet – you said “f”, and you couldn’t say “g” – you said “c”. I have to say, it was an interesting first word…!!

You slept between us in our bed for nearly 4 whole years! (Terrible parenting. Setting an awful example.) But when your little hand snuggled into mine and we played the game where I pressed your hand, and you pressed mine back, we were in a world all of our own, communicating though no one could see it. Just as we did when you were still a hiccup inside my tummy. (I’d do it all over again – in spite of what the books say.)

And I know you don’t realise it, but you are still my baby. I still feel your little hand in mine, playing the pressing game. I still notice your hiccups – you still get them often.

I still catch a glimpse of that little face, especially when you’re sleeping. And every now and again I hear the universe tinkling when you forget yourself, and really laugh.

I still close my eyes when I am worried about you getting hurt. Not so much these days because of roller skates or jungle gyms, but because of all the other things I know lie in wait.

Love, and heart break, failure, losing friends, finding new ones, finding your way, becoming who you are meant to be, growing aware of a reality that is not perfect, realising that some things don’t just get better with a kiss and a plaster, fast cars and dangerous places, finding the strength to set boundaries, knowing you can say no…

I think of all those things and I just want to curl you up on the pillow beside me, I want to hold your hand and press away all those things, silently let you know that I am here, I will always be here, I will always worry and I will always love you.

I know you find me smothering and annoying. I know I’m not cool, and you’d rather be messaging. I know you think I don’t understand.

But I loved you when you were just a hiccup! I loved you even when your first word was a rude one! And I love you in the same way now.

So when you get into the car without saying hello, or grab your toast without saying thank you, or put your earphones in and pretend you don’t know that I am trying to have a conversation, or roll your eyes skywards when I frustrate you – I want you to know that I love you anyway.

I loved you first.

I’ll love you always.

And I will always believe in those fairies, even though you aren’t quite sure now – you will be again, one day.

Because you are my daughter – and you are magical. Perfect.