At night, I hear her conversing with John Jelly Moo, the other friend I can’t hear. He lives by her side, although sometimes he’s not there. He’s real in her mind. She can see him.

Outside, she talks to the birds. Shouting or laughing, stretching her arms wide as she tries to reach up to the sky. Frustrated, she bends down to the earth, searching for worms she can whisper to. Whispering is her new favourite thing.

When the rain whips at the windows like angry tentacles, she retreats into an indoor world of supermarkets and baking, houses and boats. It’s a world I’m sometimes given restricted access to, but only when she needs a customer to visit the shop.

Our house isn’t a house. It’s a secret cave, flying saucer, rowing boat on a rapid-filled river. It’s a place of adventure and magic, fairies and frogs.

Inside her den she arranges the toys around her, gathering the troops for the next installment of her mission. “Get the playdough,” I hear her whisper. “We need a cushion now,” she commands. No one moves, but she seems happy enough with their efforts. “Good girl” she mutters, before closing the curtain and buttoning herself away.

I’m on the outside, looking in. Entry to this world is strictly VIP only. You are deemed incredibly special if you’re allowed inside.

There is one game I am needed for though. It involves hair and a brush. I’m instructed to sit quietly and wait. “I make you pretty Mummy,” she nods knowingly. I submit to the pulling fingers of a toddler immersed in the new role of hairdresser.

For five minutes, I’m a VIP, on the other side of the curtain. I smile as I take a look around this secret place. And then I raise my head, realising I am alone again.

My toddler has gone to fight crocodiles.

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For all her tantrums and diva strops, my daughter is at a lovely age right now.

Every day I can see new cogs in her brain whirring into action, as she shows me she’s remembering stuff – like numbers, shapes, colours and letters – and going through ideas in her own little head.

My favourite part of this phase is watching her imagination develop and unfurl in front of me.

She talks to everything – dolls, teddies, a pebble on the ground – as if it’s her best friend. I find the responses she gives for these inanimate objects fascinating. After asking her toy tiger if he’d like some “bing bangs” (bangles, to those in the know), she makes him reply, “Yes please. Like bing bangs. Pretty on me. ROAR!”

Quite.

We were recently sent a gorgeous Honeybake Tea Set from Dolls Houses. It’s one of the first toys I’ve seen my two year old properly play with for more than ten minutes.

She made pretend cups of tea with it, pouring pretend milk into pretend water and stirring in pretend sugar with the spoon.

As soon as her dad returns home from work, she’s thrusting said tea on him, oblivious to the fact he’s more of a coffee type of man.

She made play dough cupcakes and served them with the tea, getting increasingly irrate when she realised I wasn’t actually eating the “cake”.

I fear she’ll be a terrifying host when she’s older.

The tea set is made from wood, so it’s got a really durable feel to it. From the high quality finish of the painted wood, to the detailed stitching on the fabric strawberries in the pretend cupcake, it’s a toy I don’t mind leaving out in the living room at the end of the day. It ranks high above much of the plastic tat we have lying around.

I’d recommend this product for anyone looking for a starter tea set for a child as the wood finish means it’s both long lasting and unlikely to shatter into lots of pieces, like a china one would. Although I love the look of the china sets, I know my overly zealous tea maker would smash one in moments.

For the organised amongst you, I’d recommend you add it to your list of Christmas present purchases. But then again, I’m not allowing myself to mention the c-word.

Yet.

***

You can buy the Honeybake Tea Set from Le Toy Van for £20.25 at Doll Houses.

We were sent this product for the purpose of review.

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