‘So, you’re discovering … er … gravity!’ I say, as she drops a toy bear on the floor. ‘Brilliant, darling! Now, are you going to express yourself through water?’ Minnie has headed over to the water tray and is swishing it around with abandon. ‘You’ve made the choice to splash yourself … Argh!’ I cry out as Minnie sloshes water into my face. ‘You’ve made the choice to get me wet, too. Wow. That was an … interesting choice.’

Minnie isn’t even listening. She’s run over to the playhouse, which is quite adorable, like a little gingerbread cottage. Hastily I follow her, almost tripping on the squidgy colourful alphabet matting.

‘Now you’re in the house!’ I say, racking my brains for something to say. ‘You’re discovering … er … windows. Shall I come in, too?’

‘No,’ says Minnie, and slams the door in my face. She looks out of the window and scowls. ‘No Mummy! Minnie house!’ She bangs the shutters closed, and I sink on to my heels. I’m exhausted. I can’t think of any other discoveries to identify to Minnie. I want a cup of coffee.

I pick up a toy with wooden beads strung along coloured wires and idly start to fiddle with it. It’s quite a good game, actually. You have to get the different coloured beads into the four corners, which is harder than it sounds …

‘Rebecca?’

Guiltily I jump up, dropping the game on to the playmat. ‘Oh, hi, Erica!’

‘How’s Minnie doing?’ Erica beams. ‘Is she learning to take those gradual steps away from you?’

‘She’s playing in the house,’ I say with a smile, and open the shutters – but the house is empty. Shit. ‘Well, she was in the house …’ I cast my eyes around wildly. ‘Oh, there she is.’

Minnie has linked arms with another little girl and is marching her round the room, singing ‘My Old Man’s A Dustman’, which my dad taught her. I try to follow them, but it’s not easy, what with toddler trucks and jumbo foam blocks all over the place.

‘Well done, darling!’ I call. ‘You’re expressing yourself through song! Er … do you want to tell Mummy how you feel about that?’

‘No,’ says Minnie, and before I can catch her, she runs out into the yard, climbs to the top of the slide and gazes down triumphantly.

I glance at Erica, who looks lost for words.

‘Minnie’s a very … self-assured child,’ she says at last. ‘Very independent.’

‘Er … yes.’

We both watch as Minnie whirls a skipping rope around her head like a lasso. Soon all the other children on the slide are copying her, and shouting, ‘My old man’s a dustman! My old man’s a dustman!’ even though they probably don’t even know what a dustman is. They probably call it a ‘garbage collector’ or ‘refuse sanitator’ or something.

‘Minnie seems to be transitioning with great confidence,’ says Erica at last. ‘Maybe you’d like to sit in the parents’ lounge, Rebecca. This is a facility for our parents of children who are at the latter stages of the transition programme. It provides proximity yet independence, and helps the child attain a sense of self, while feeling secure.’