And bright and smart and lively and all that good stuff, and I’m sure I was exactly, exactly the same at 4. But my god. I would give a substantial amount of money for someone to come over and talk to her all day long because that’s what she wants. All. Day. Long.

If I get up from the table while we’re playing, for seriously a nanosecond: “Mommy, you’re supposed to be playing with us.”

If I try to sneak off to the bathroom, she’ll follow. No pause in the chatter.

If am trying to change a diaper, same. No break in volume or speed or consistency.

If I put on a video for a bit of a break (FOR ME), she narrates the whole thing with her thoughts and observations.

I’ll be in the kitchen and she’ll chase me around. “I want to watch the Lorax too. Mummy when will our hummus and crackers be ready. It’s taking a really long time. You know my favourite part of the Lorax? You don’t know? It’s the part where that woman’s dress changed colour and she was dancing. That was my favourite part. I also like that song at the end of Tangled, the one that goes doo doo doo, doo doo. Doo doo.”

Are there professional child talkers out there? Wait. Those would be therapists, wouldn’t they?