If she's not crawling she is holding her hands out so we can "walk" her.
Adorable tights with frills on the bottom are now encrusted with garden dirt and playground sand.
A naively purchased pair of white trousers hangs unworn in her wardrobe.
As soon as I get into an interesting conversation with another mother at playgroup (and by interesting I mean anything not about baby poo), Eloise bum-shuffles over to me hands up in the air demanding me to walk her.
When I see other babies her age running around I know that I have it easy. The mothers look tired, and rightfully so, seeing as they now have to look after a child that walks like a drunk elf and has the same concept of danger as one.
But I envy them too. I want to see where Eloise will go. I want to chase after her at the park. I think I am finally ready to see her walk away from me.