Our youngest daughter Grace – nearly four – is going through a bit of a butterfly stage. You only need mention the word butterfly and she will wander away to return a few minutes later in her fairy wings and pink party frock.

‘I am the beautiful pink butterfly,’ she intones, twirling on her toes, ‘the beautiful pink butterfly.’

Sometimes, depending on the colour of her dress, she is a green butterfly. But either way she is beautiful, and there is something calming about a 17 kilogram butterfly floating about the backyard.

When she is not a butterfly Grace devotes time to her Barbies, though I have to say the Barbie stage is not as enchanting as the butterfly stage.

Blonde Barbie puts Ken into time out and bickers with Beach Barbie.

‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’ says Blonde Barbie.
‘Are your ears painted on?’
‘Have you done your chores?’ responds Beach Barbie. ‘I’m telling mum.’

I asked my wife, Kate, if she was going through any stages of her own.

‘Darcey (our eldest daughter) thinks I’m going through a Cinderella stage’, she said.

Wow, that's nice, I thought, thinking it was a reflection of her happy state. I asked her to explain further.

‘She says I'm like Cinderella because I do everything. I'm still waiting for Prince Charming to come along.’

Not exactly the response I’d hoped for.

I turned my thoughts to Darcey. She is six years old. I wondered what stage she might be going through.

With a jolt I realised I didn’t have a clue because Darcey is not easy to work out anymore. She is no longer keen to tell me what she is up to. She goes to school and moves in mysterious ways.

On her bedroom door is a handwritten sign: Please go away. Thank You. There are small kisses and hearts surrounding her message and to be fair she has been civil with her request, but it is still a puzzle. I didn’t see her write it. I didn’t see her stick it to the door. It just appeared one day. It seems too early or polite to be a rebellion but it’s certainly a statement of independence. Perhaps a statement of empowerment through her newfound ability to write?

Whatever it is, one thing is clear: Darcey is asserting herself in more logical and challenging ways.

The other day she picked me up on a statement I made some months ago about drinking beer.

‘You said you only ever have two beers Dad, but the other day when you were watching the football, you had four.’
‘It was the grand final’, I protested.

‘You sure have a big tummy Dad. Does that come from drinking so many beers?’ she replied.

Kate thought this was gold and raised her eyebrows as if to say: See, your daughter is watching you more closely. She is evaluating what you say against what you do.

Suddenly, I was reminded of an incident a few weeks ago when I found Darcey tucking into a slice of bread and butter at the breakfast table.

‘What have you got there?’ I asked casually. But Darcey’s antenna for trouble was already twitching. She knew her incursion into bread and butter territory might impact on her Vita Brits allocation for breakfast.

‘It’s just the one Dad. I only ever have one.’

This line sounded vaguely familiar but I didn’t register its significance.

I checked the packet of bread and it was touch and go. I don’t want to say Darcey was lying but I certainly had a stronger case to mount than George Dubya did before he went to war over weapons of mass destruction.

Anyway, I need to be careful about what I write now because Darcey can read too. More than once I’ve turned to find her peering over my shoulder, quietly mouthing the words, trying to make sense of them to determine if I have sullied her character.

I’d like to think that it was just a stage she’s going through but I can see the writing on the wall. My days of plundering my family for material for this column are fast drawing to a close. Soon I will have a far fiercer editor to answer to than my current one.

‘You are not writing THAT about me Dad! No way! I can’t believe it! You do that, and I’ll never speak to you again.’

As for me, I think I’m going through a confidence-in-tatters stage. Can’t for the life of me figure out why.