What to write in a birthday book, sorted by how old they are

A first-birthday inscription is not really addressed to the child at all - they will not read it for six years, and by then its value is as evidence. So write down the facts that will otherwise be lost: the four words they could say, what they did to the cake, how tired everybody was. Nobody remembers that, and nobody else is writing it down.

Between about two and five the inscription gets PERFORMED. A parent reads it aloud, often in front of the child and sometimes in front of a room. That changes what works: short sentences, nothing the reader will stumble over, and nothing that will embarrass the adult holding the book.

From about eight, they read it privately, and the register has to change again. Warmth lands as embarrassment at that age, particularly from anyone who is not a parent. Write to them as a reader rather than as a child - respect for their taste is the compliment that works.

If the book itself is not settled yet, the guide to birthday book gifts covers what a child of each age actually opens twice. Take a look

Write for the archive. The child is not the audience yet and pretending otherwise wastes the page.

"For {name}, one year old today. You will not remember any of it, which is what this book is for."

"To {name} on your first birthday - you have been here a year and we cannot remember before."

"For {name} at one: you can say four words and one of them is cheese."

"To {name}, one today. Your mother is more tired than you are and twice as pleased."

"For {name} - first birthday, first book with your name in it. There will be others."

Short, speakable, and nothing that makes the adult reading it cringe. Naming the current obsession is the move here - it is the detail that dates the book perfectly in ten years.

"For {name}, who is three today and has opinions about everything."

"To {name} at four: you asked for this story every night in October. Here it is, properly."

"For {name} - happy birthday from someone who has already been asked to read this eleven times."

"To {name}, two today, currently obsessed with diggers. This will not last. I am writing it down."

"For {name} on your birthday. You are excellent company and you are very short."

This is the first birthday where the inscription is addressed to a reader, and saying so is the gift. A child who has just worked out that the marks mean something is delighted to find some addressed to them.

"For {name}, six today. You are old enough to read this yourself now, which is the whole point."

"To {name} at five - the first birthday you will actually remember. Make it a good one."

"For {name}: happy birthday. Read it on your own first, then make someone else read it to you."

"To {name}, seven today and reading better than your father did at nine."

"For {name} - happy birthday. I chose this one because it is funny, and so are you."

The instinct at this age is to say how grown up they are getting, which is precisely the thing they do not want to read. Treat them as a reader with taste and the inscription will be re-read; treat them as a little one and it will be skipped for good.

"For {name} at ten. I am not going to be sentimental about it. It is a good book and you are a good reader."

"To {name}, eleven today. You have outgrown nearly everything I have given you. Not this."

"For {name}: happy birthday. No message, just a book. You are welcome."

"To {name} at nine - the last year I get away with buying you books. Making the most of it."

"For {name}, twelve today. Argue with me about it when you have finished."

A book given at a party is opened in a pile of fourteen other things, by a child who does not know you well. Say who you are in terms the child can place, because "love from the Hendersons" means nothing to a six-year-old and everything to their mother.

"Happy birthday, {name}, from {child}'s mum. He talks about you constantly."

"For {name} - from the {surname} family, who are very glad you invited us."

"To {name}, happy birthday from {child}, who sits next to you."

"For {name}: we did not know what to get you, so we got you a story. Happy birthday."

Thirteen, sixteen, eighteen and twenty-one are the ones where a book stops being a present and becomes a marker, and they can carry a heavier line than any ordinary year.

"For {name}, thirteen today. This is the last book I will choose for you. After this you choose."

"To {name} at sixteen - you have not read a book for pleasure in two years. Try this one."

"For {name}, eighteen today, from the people who read you your first one."

"To {name} on your twenty-first. We kept every book we ever gave you. Your mother will show you."

A surprising number of families do this, and almost nobody writes the inscriptions as though they belong together. They do. Eleven books with eleven unrelated nice thoughts in them is eleven books; eleven books with the same opening line and the age written every time is a record of a childhood, and the child works that out at about fourteen and never gets over it.

Pick a formula in year one and keep it. "For {name}, who is six" - then one sentence of what they were like that year. The sentence is the part that changes; the shape is the part that must not. A run of them read end to end is the single most affecting thing in most family bookshelves and it costs nothing but consistency.

Number them if you like - "book four of however many I get" - and always put the date. If somebody else started the tradition, copy their wording rather than improving it.

For a christening, a new baby, a first day of school or a grandchild rather than a birthday, the lines for those occasions are gathered here. Take a look

The first blank page, in pen. Not the inside cover, which is where labels and price stickers end up.

And write the age, in numbers, every single time - "six today", not "happy birthday". The age is what makes the inscription legible in thirty years, and it is the thing people leave out most, because on the day it is the most obvious fact in the room.