It seems I was right. I wrote before about how turning three seemed so much more of a milestone than turning two. It’s just another day, and another year older but somehow it seemed to mark the watershed between baby and little girl. Even though she’s still dwarfed by primary school children (well those in the higher years anyway), still needs my help to climb up to the tallest slide at the playpark and still gets tired if we stay out for too long, she isn’t even a toddler anymore, let alone a baby.
Somehow in the blink of an eye, I’ve turned around and she’s become a pre-schooler, and a lanky one at that.
And nothing has rammed that home quite so much as a certain something sitting in my hallway. It’s pink, silver and purple, with flower stickers, a picture of Minnie Mouse and Daisy, and three lime green wheels.
We have a scooter in the house.
Or as Kitty calls it:
She adores it (thank you GodDaddy for nailing the birthday present!). Last night was the first night she hadn’t taken it to bed with her, and that’s only because it was really muddy from an afternoon at the park and needed to dry off. On previous evenings it’s been carted upstairs, and lovingly tucked up in the chair in her room, well beyond Elma’s inquisitive reach.
We took it to the park on Sunday afternoon as grey skies stopped the incessant dripping for half an hour or so, leaving a spate of fresh puddles, perfect for sploshing through, and with the help of both H and her godfather she started to get the hang of the scooting and the steering, so that she was aiming for the puddles rather than ending up in them accidentally on the way to ram the grass.
We came home for tea, muffins and toasted teacake just as the heavens opened again, soaked, exhausted and thrilled.
But it wasn’t until we went to the park just the three of us that the real significance of being a scooter Mummy was revealed (beyond the fact that I will always end up carrying the scooter for at least half the time we are out of course).
We made scooter friends.
No more for us the friendships formed bumbling around the climbing frame, sitting in puddles, or clinging to the roundabout. Even flying through the air she noticed that the little boy in the swing next to her had brought his balance bike, and when he hopped out to go to ride through puddles that was all she wanted to do.
They eyed each other up across a watery divide.
“I got a scooter! I’m three!” said my daughter.
“I gotabike!” replied her newest friend.
And that was that; inseparable until the car parking ran out.
It’s a whole new world.