Happy birthday sweet boy!
We got you your own scooter and tied it up with a big shiny balloon; together I saw them stamp out every ounce of babyhood that was lingering behind.
You’ve changed so much these last few months. You talk so much more, maybe slightly less than other kids your age but we don’t care about that. Your pronunciation is rubbish which I LOVE. You say ‘buuubrees’ (blueberries) ‘bapple’ (apple) ‘bthuses’ (buses) ‘beebuts’ (buttons) and ‘duddles’ (cuddles) and these versions will stay around a lot longer than they might if I didn’t keep reinforcing them, especially the duddles, always the duddles.
At two you are a fractious, defiant little ball of energy but a loving one who is a total mummy’s boy. You’re a bruiser, you wade in pushing and shoving and stand up to your brother and laugh as he throws footballer fake falls. I can tell I’m going to have to keep tabs on you.
Playing with you is a daunting experience, one minute you are laughing and the next you are shaking with anger that the train you are pushing won’t fit through a much smaller tunnel. It’s too small lovely, it’s just too small. The laws of physics are a tough lesson to learn I know.
You like oranges, Fireman Sam, shoving people, Marmite toast, climbing, roundabouts, your trike, chucking your food all over the floor when you have finished, playing bundles with your brother, tipping water out of the bath, your threadbare stinky sheep comforter, techno, making dents in the wooden floor by lobbing stuff (stop this please!) and the sound of your daddy’s key in the lock.
I like when you shout ‘FART’ and giggle. I like that you think ‘SNATCH IT’ is the way you ask for something you want.
I like that you love to dance to Taylor Swift’s Shake It with me but then get annoyed when the next song comes on. It’s rubbish, I feel you.
I like the cute stuff you do like waving goodbye to one hand from the other saying ‘Bu-bye hands, see soon hands.’
This morning you woke up at 5.20am, were you just excited or did you know that I was up until 1? We planned to take you to soft play but then reasoned na – day off – sod it – pub! Sorry my darling but you know you’re loved ;)
Second home, he loves it really
The stuff you don’t like is growing by the day – being put in the buggy, mashed potato, having your hair washed, me picking your nose, when your Fireman Sam figures won’t sit up properly in the fire engine, getting messy hands, coming out of the bath, when people say ‘cake’ and there is no cake, wearing gloves and broken foodstuff.
You’re getting to be a handful and there’s no denying it, you drive me insane but don’t you worry i’m used to it. All the good bits, all the bad bits, all the laughs, the tears and all the tear your hair out bits – we still wouldn’t change a single thing about you.
Did you know that it’s entirely possible to find someone irritating as hell and still love the shit out of them regardless? (not literally).
Keep being you. You rock*.
Post pub nap
**************P.S. I have a new book OUT NOW! You can nab it on Amazon here or in your lovely local bookshop :)