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I should have seen it coming. The signs were clear. It was the little things at first; refusing to come to the dinner table without moaning, muttering “it not fair” at the tiniest request from her mother. But I was naive. Blinkered to the fact my child is but two years old.

The stark truth revealed itself last weekend. When asked what she wanted for Christmas, rather than shouting, “CHOC CHOC MUMMY!”, my two year old clearly stated, “Justin Bieber CD”. And there was a definite eye-roll in there somewhere.

In the car yesterday, as I went to insert her nursery rhyme CD, Frog quickly chirped from the back, “No Mummy. I want Nicki Minaj.”

Then it was the clothes. “I NOT wear Boden Mummy! I want GLITTER!” shouted my two year old, as I suggested she pull on her warm bodywarmer.

At bedtime, “IT TOO EARLY MUMMY!”. Coaxing her into the carseat, “I NOT BABY”.

But the final straw came this evening as I encouraged her into her pyjamas. “I do it myself Molly,” came the reply. “Molly?” I was shocked. “Yes. Molly. That your name,” came the retort.

If this is what it’s like now, how the hell am I going to survive the next decade?!