Five.

Somebody once said to me of having children that the days are long but the years are short. It's so true. I still think of this place as the new house, and yet I was 6-months pregnant with Cherub when we arrived, and all of a sudden he just turned 5. Just like that, bang. He is now a proper Big Boy. Well, according to him anyway. In my heart he's still my baby. My bay-bee!!!

He's been counting down to the big day for ages, since before my birthday in June. My stock answer to how many sleeps till my birthday? was A hundred! until we came into the last month. Then he started counting back from 32, assisted eventually by a special tick chart because although he was always right (Chenty-nine sleeps till my birfday!) he kept wanting confirmation (is it 29, Mummy?) which meant I needed to keep checking the calendar.

People have started asking me what I'll do with myself when he starts school next year, and the answer is: Miss him. I mean sure, I'll build up the tap business, get some proper choreography done and help out at school and stuff, but to be honest, I'm more than a bit worried about how lonely I'll feel. Cherub is my little chum, and he's just the nicest companion. We love hanging out together, doing our stuff. We hold hands and skip together down the street. I can take him anywhere and we'll enjoy ourselves, because he's so obliging and sweet-tempered. I love the funny conversations, the earnest look he gets in his eyes when he's telling me something very important (usually about trains). I love the bum-dances, the way he can play quietly at home for hours so that I can do my thing, the way he is still so helpful, the way he pipes up suddenly twenty times a day I love you Mummy, which NEVER gets boring or commonplace. I love his ready laugh and I love just looking at his sweet face.

Seeing as I can't put a brick on his head to stop him growing up and away, I'll settle for wishing him Happy Birthday instead. (My baby.)