A letter from Immy - 2011 version

It's my birthday.

Farewell toddlerdom, you have been mighty grand to me but I wait for no one and am donning my princess shoes and swirly dress to take on the world, or at least the crèche room, the dance stage and the swimming pool in the year ahead.

Make Up Trial. Dad was a little freaked out.

I shall hear no more talk of this ‘big girl bed’ rubbish, utter what you will about getting too long, and adding beautiful wall stickers, but I am not leaving my own bed. We are best friends. So hands off. I will happily move into Popps’ room or Mum and Dads room, but it seems none of them want me as their room mate. (Selfish, is all I can say to them).

I am so busy talking that sometimes I just get all muddled up, Mum says, ‘slow down Immy, I am listening’, but that just makes me have to talk over her and get all excited even more. I tend to drop the first part of the word to save time, but this seems to cause the grown ups some confusion, I just don’t know how smart they are sometimes. Recently I was saying to Mum, “do you leave me” – simple really, but she kept saying, no I wont leave you, then I said, no ‘do you leave me’. Round and round we went til she finally got it. Do you believe me?

Let’s not get started on the dara conversation. As a princess I need lots of daras, Dad has no idea where to find them or how to put them on.  Daras – some of you may refer to them as Tiaras, the sparkly the better.

My Mum says this is a masterpiece, but she always seems to but my pictures in the big yellow bin.

I am hoping to get princess shoes for my birthday. Mum makes me wear sandals all the time and still utters the same old tune about paying a fortune for shoes I never wear. I have some in the dress ups box that I do like to wear, but I still haven’t worked out how to get them out of the house.

Best news ever, I am nearly grown out of my daytime sleep. Most days this is a good thing, not so good when I fall asleep at about 4.30.

There is one thing I am not really a fan of, boys. They are bossy and pushy and noisy and annoying. I told them they couldn’t come to my party. Except one of them, he is bees knees and I like to read him stories.

Shake your bum bum dance.

If you are thinking of being a dancer, I could be your teacher. I can do jazz and tap and ballet and shake your bum bum – that is the technical name for my own licensed dance (Les Mills, keep your hands off my dance names).

I believe clothes are highly overrated. If a swirly swishy dress is not on offer I see no reason for having to wear something. Recently a crèche teacher told Mum she spent quite a bit of time trying to get me to keep my clothes on.

My Mum also runs around the yard spraying me with sun cream from a big spray bottle. Yes, she is all sorts of embarrassing and just one crazy lady. But I do love her cuddles.

I have only recently started this cool trick, you make your bottom lip go all quivery, then cry, then scream loudly and then throw yourself to the floor screaming about what you need. Why did no one tell me about this trick? Popps hates me crying and instantly runs around to see what I need.

When being told off, if you look back at your Mum and say “blah, blah blah” she is usually not very impressed – straight to the naughty chair for you! And Popps is not a fan of me sticking my tongue out at her, but seriously some days I just cant cope with much more of them, removing the sharp scissors just when I was having fun or saying I can’t stir the pot when the fire bits are on. I am not even allowed to cross the road by myself. They need to lighten up, and realise that I am now three, not in nappies, and on top of that I am SUPER IMOGEN, flying to the rescue.

Happy Play time everyone, I am off to draw on the windows.

Immy Molly Moo xxx