But for the past week, HM (high maintenance), my 3 and ½-year-old, has woken up before her two older sisters and tip toed down the stairs with her blanket and pillow and snuggled in my lap.
I love this time with her. She looks into my eyes, revels in my undivided attention, and tells me something about her life: The name of a new friend. A toy she wants. A declaration that she doesn’t like Cheerios.
Today she looked at me and asked: “Mummy, why are we girls?”
I could hear my husband snickering from the kitchen as he poured his coffee. I sensed that he was thrilled that it was I that was asked the question.