Today the sun shone and the birds sang and my 5 year old took that as a sign that she should turn feral.
Of course she waited until neither of her parents could reign her in. Until she was round in next door’s garden with them.
The first we know about it is when the neighbour quietly pulls me to one side over the fence at the bottom of the garden and asks: “Is it OK that Mia is running around without a top on? Only it’s very sunny and well, just look at her . . . “
And there is my daughter in all her glory.
Jeans on, waistband slung under her little round belly, showing just the faintest hint of bum crack.
Hair like she was brought up by dogs.
Bare feet, dirt smeared across her left cheek and totally naked from the waist up.
I let out an involuntary noise that my neighbour must read as panic so she quickly retorts with: “It’s OK, she’s been helping Chris (her husband) with the gardening and walking the dog for us.
“We love having her here, she’s so entertaining.”
And then she gives me a look.
I look I know so well. It’s a faraway, rather amused look. A look which means she’s going to tell me something really embarrassing that my girl has said or done.
A look which means I’m going to have to apologise for something.
I steel myself for the worst.
“She did make us laugh though, Tara.
“She stood there with her hands on her hips, looked Chris up and down and then announced to him; ‘You know if you breathe in that belly won’t look quite so big, Chris’.”