It started out like any normal day.

By that, I mean up and out of bed at 5am after CIA-inspired levels of sleep deprivation and white noise pumped directly into my brain throughout the night.

All I had to do now was tip-toe through the mountain of scattered toys and get through breakfast without decorating my suit with toast, felt pen, glue, child’s vomit or milky, unwanted cereal.

So a standard family morning then. Not quite.

The little crawler who had scurried round the floors on all fours like a lost puppy for the past 14 months was now standing on her own two feet.

A beaming smile was pasted across her little face as she swayed unsteadily like one of my poorly constructed flat pack furniture units. My little girl was walking, well of a fashion anyway, and in truth it was more of a stand, hop, shuffle and slide than a proper walk.

Beaming with pride she stared back at us demanding both recognition, praise and probably something to eat. Like a raisin or bit of toast or something.

Nevertheless she was technically taking her first steps and had conquered the first major motor skills challenge facing us humans. She was one step closer to growing up and one step further away from that helpless little bundle that was born in what seems like only 5 minutes ago.

Having done this once already it was the sort of moment that inspires conflicting emotions as I know that I definitely won’t be doing it again.

I can’t imagine having any more babies so here’s some things that will be a miss:

• That little gummy smile is long gone, giving way to a mouth full of (sharp) teeth.
• The ability to have nice things out of reach on tables (now everything is in reach).
• Specially designed confinement equipment (walkers, carriers etc)
• A lack of sibling fighting.
• Early bedtimes.
• A really soft head.
• That new baby smell.