Freya's Birthday

Today my precious daughter was four years old. It is hard to believe that the little poppet began life just a few short years ago, and is no longer a tiny baby.

No more bottles (of boiled water - clearly, the darling was breast fed), nappies (biodegradable of course), baby gates (removed from the bottom of the stairs, soon to be re-instated in my bedroom doorway to confine me in my imminent senility), high chair, tiny car seat or even pram! It is hard to accept that both of my munchkins' baby days are no more.

This next phase of their childhood shall entail the careful avoidance of the endless antics and bullying of the school gate mafia, God help me.

I wanted to mark the day in a special way. Freya was born more than eight weeks prematurely and was incredibly unwell following her emergency delivery. She weighed just four pounds and was ventilated for ten days. The entire family bears the scars of those traumatic, anxious first weeks.

I took an annual leave day and decided that a special treat was in order. I had my hair cut and coloured in Nicky Clarke, followed by an Eve Lom facial and all of the extras at the Marylebone salon in Spanish Place.

I don't see why the children should have all of the fun, it is the mothers who suffer the pain of childbirth after all. Freya was happy enough playing with her new toy kitchen supervised by our delightful au pair Ana. She shall have her party when the new school term starts after Easter.

All of her little friend's are out of town skiing or at Center Parcs, and James is working on a crucial deal at work - out until midnight every day this week. He is hoping to retire by Christmas, but until then I am virtually a single mother!

OK so you really despise me now. How bloody refreshing, I have been driving the damn Prius all week and the constant looks of approval from other drivers and even pedestrians is doing my head in...