When our daughter turned 1, my husband and I were puzzled. How should we refer to our child's new stage of life? The neonate weeks were far behind her and even the term "infant" no longer applied.

"Baby" might still work for a limited time, while the catchall "keiki" could be used for a number of years yet.

"Toddler" conjured up images of willful tykes emphatically yelling "No!" while pulling out their hair and throwing food. Could our child even be considered a toddler if she was not quite yet toddling?

Despite any parental reluctance, however, she was bound to grow up, and quickly. Our tot was indeed on the verge of toddlerhood, which, coupled with the teen years, make up the confrontational "T" stages of parenting.

Crash! Glass shatters on the floor of the grocery aisle. Our munchkin's now-empty hand remains poised in mid-air as she appears to contemplate the physics of cause and effect. I apologize profusely to the store employees who kindly sweep up the mess of shards, olives and pooling liquid.

It is a wake-up call to take note of our daughter's impending transition from infanthood to toddlerhood. Gone are the days of her dozing or perching mum in the stroller during excursions. Instead, attention is noisily demanded. If she is not allowed to grab the grocery list or products in the basket, she wails, causing game passers-by who are up for the challenge to attempt to cajole her back to semi-happiness.

It requires agility to place a cart just so in a narrow aisle so that other patrons can still squeeze past, scan the shelves for an item of choice, and ensure that tiny, but all-too-quick, hands do not snatch additional goods.

In another shop we get the stink eye from a roaming employee.

"Is this yours," she queries, pointing to a box that my tot has curiously grabbed and knowing that it clearly does not belong to us. Although the lady's inflection is downward, her impatience is clearly rising. Handing her the container, we leave, pronto.

In the ensuing months, first steps give rise to cheers, which later become sighs as my husband and I realize how much harder it is to keep up with a walking, then running, tyke. Crawling seems like slow motion compared to the ambulatory nature of 1-year-olds, who are propelled by jets of curiosity from one thing to another seemingly every 30 seconds.

Even child-friendly places require vigilance. I used to think that parents sat on benches while their little ones burned off energy exploring the playground equipment. After learning that a neighbor's child broke his leg going down a slide and watching my own daughter have no fear of a 7-foot drop-off, I began to supervise our half-pint more closely. Scrapes and tumbles are a part of childhood, but at the same time the emergency room is best avoided.

As our keiki embraces her newfound movement, even her appearance changes. The roundness begins to disappear, her limbs gain strength, and more and more she starts resembling a little girl rather than a baby.

Our child is growing up.

From the way she runs onto the playground, laughing unabashedly, arms outstretched and hair blowing freely in the trade winds, it looks like she is embracing the transition.

Monica Quock Chan, a freelance writer who lives in Honolulu with her husband and daughter, just welcomed a son, Kenton.