Nearly six

“I am not five mummy, I am nearly six!”

I have heard these words a few times lately. We are now into the final (six week) countdown to the ‘big day’ and excitement levels are getting high.

Birthdays are oh so important when you are little and desperate to be bigger.

Apparently, I’m no longer allowed to call her a five year old. She isn’t five, she is nearly six, so can I please stop saying that she is five. One such conversation took place in the doctor’s surgery, whilst discussing flu jabs. The nurse sat there looking half amused, half mystified as we had a debate on the subject. I pointed out repeatedly that technically she would be five until her sixth birthday and at important times like this, I have to say she is five. A was adamant that nearly six was a perfectly accurate description of her age and even shushed me to stop me using the ‘f word’ (five, just in case you were worried).

Why is six such a milestone? I have no idea. This is not a new phenomenon.  We went through this last year. On and on and on, she went about being five.  Conversations were had about the things she would do, how she would feel, how big she would be. Five came and went and aged five years and one whole day, she started preparations for being six.

Crazy.

Now she is nearly six, she can apparently do everything for herself. I’m not complaining, I like independence in children. Now she is nearly six, she should be treated like a grown up. I’m not so keen on this one. Now she is nearly six, she does not want to be called any of the ‘silly, babyish names anymore’ as she will get very cross and refuse to answer. Being nearly six apparently means that she can watch more television, eat more pudding and wear nail varnish.

Despite being such a grown up nearly six-year-old however, there are times when she reverts to being two such ass lying on the floor crying because her legs are ‘broken’ or having to be carried everywhere just in case there is a dog/cat/bird/squirrel within a two-mile radius.

The heady heights of a rapidly approaching birthday of course is the party. We have been ‘planning’ the party for about ten months now. Tinkerbell, Frozen, maybe fairies, no Frozen definitely, Disney Princess, or flowers, that is without any thought of venue or type of party.

“Not long now.”

Then there is the present list. Never-ending. All those lovely toy adverts have been studied endlessly and duly noted (by her, not me) although some have been discarded now as they are too babyish for a six year old of course.

So we have six weeks of being ‘nearly six’ and then probably six weeks and one day until she starts the ‘nearly’ seven routine.  I must have a chat with her about wishing her life away.