So, you are four now, my son

I *am* sorry that it took me until two p.m. to remember it was your birthday. I am sorry that I forgot to mention it earlier. I really feel gutted by the way I just blurted it out with a whiny "mubarak" as I burst into tears at the thought of my baby slipping ever more away from me.

You took it like a man, of course. You showed me how big your feet are and how long your legs have become. I didn't need to see how big your bum is, but yes, there it is - like a four-year-olds - no disputing that. You proudly told your brother you were "four months old now" and still you don't know the difference between months and years and I fear this will have adults laughing in your face in the very near future. Prepare to return with the quip "hey - I'm four - I get things wrong - what's *your* excuse a**hole"... but not the a**hole bit.

I didn't get you any presents. I didn't get you a card. I didn't write you a poem or mark the event and I want you to know that this isn't because I don't love you or don't value you. No. If it wasn't forbidden I would worship you and you would let me. Don't think just because I haven't made you a prince for the day that I don't think you aren't worthy of it. You are special and I am sorry if I didn't celebrate that specialness today.

But I gave you a Bounty bar...



Well, this time four years ago you were nearly six hours old. Your face was bright red and you had every nurse and midwife cooing and ahhing. I was glad you were out because OMiGod labour really hurt. I cried a lot that day. So did your Dad and don't let him tell you any different - he's a wuss. He cuddled you and blubbered til the staff kicked him out and locked the doors. Then when they unlocked them the very next morning he was already at the door waiting to be let in, he ran in the ward, pushed me aside and picked you up and cried again. He got me a KitKat so I didn't mind about being pushed. You bonded. I ate. Good deal all round.

I wasn't ready for children and in many, many ways you have been my teacher. I have learned a lot about the world and myself because of you. I had no idea you could live with your heart outside of yourself like it seems I do with you. I didn't know that if someone else trapped their finger and turned to you with their big sad puppy eyes it could hurt *me* more than them. I didn't know that a gummy grin would make me want to bite them.

I also didn't know how impatient I was. I didn't know what sleep deprivation meant. I had no idea how immature and selfish I was. I didn't know what selflessness truly was until I had you. I have grown up, given up, buckled down and made a lot of changes since then. I still yell, yeah. I do. I am weird like that. But hey - you ask for it so I'm not going to beat myself up over it.

But here you are. Now four. You talk. You can read words. You can problem solve. You are toilet trained and you can talk the hind legs off a donkey with your knowledge of vehicles.


But you'll alway be my baby no matter how old you get.


Happy Birthday, son.