Me: “Mia, why are you sneaking a screwdriver upstairs?”
(She has it hidden under her dressing gown as she’s heading up to bed).
Mia: “I need it.”
(She rolls her eyes and says this like it’s GLARING obvious and how could I be so dense as to not know this?)
Mia: “Just stuff.”
Me: “What sort of stuff? I need details.”
Mia: “Just things. Things you don’t need to know about.”
(She starts to climb the stairs, like that was a perfectly reasonable explanation and I should just shut up and go about my business).
Me: “Mia, you’re not taking that screwdriver up to bed unless you can give me a good reason why you’re doing it.”
Mia. DEEP sigh. Summons up great depths of patience: “Mummy. Things could happen in the night. I don’t know what they are but stuff. I might need to fix something straight away or change some batteries and wouldn’t you want me to be able to do that?”
I stand there open mouthed and she continues her journey up to bed and all I can think is thank god I’ve got 7 years to prepare for the teenage years.