Last week, Mister turned five. We celebrated with our usual traditions – measuring him on his height chart (3cm in the last 6 months, for those of you who keep track of such things), eating cake for breakfast, a homemade card from us (featuring a poem co-written by me and Desert Dad), and – Mister’s choice – a drink and a bit of cake at our favourite Bistro Guy after school. There was also a helium Spiderman balloon because, well, five.
Unknowingly, I have started a tradition of blogging about my children’s birthdays. The other day I thought how nice it would be, on my children’s 18th birthdays, to print out all of these birthday blogs and compile them into a little book, so that each of them could read what I was thinking on all their age milestones.
But, you know, I don’t always feel particularly deep or insightful during birthday month. Just because the children have gone up a digit doesn’t mean I’m suddenly struck by a philosophical muse. I just keep looking at Mister, running and climbing and drawing and writing, and in his school uniform, and all I can think is…“They handed me this big red baby – and I loved him instantly, and couldn’t stop gasping and wow-ing and laughing at the incredible fact of this tiny person, who had needed to live inside me for nine months, now being able to survive outside of me – and that was approximately five minutes ago – and now he’s a boy“. And that doesn’t seem very insightful.
It’s true that my big red baby is now definitely a five-year-old. In the last year, he has mastered the monkey bars, developed an interest in Lego and superheroes, learnt how to draw and colour accurately, started reading short words, enjoyed longer books read by me and Desert Dad, made new friends at his new school, and taken part in a range of activities without us.
If, on 30 September 2009, I was amazed at how independent this little baby now was, by being able to survive outside the womb, I never cease to be amazed by each stage of independence Mister gets to. The same boy who screamed when I left the room three years ago now leaves us happily to go to school – and even wants to go when it’s a day off. (Hmmm, maybe this says more about how boring mummy is to spend time with…)
So – nothing deep, nothing insightful. A bit like the day-to-day of parenting really – you’re aware you’re doing something pretty important, in the scheme of things, but actually it doesn’t feel very important from day to day. This post mirrors that. Nothing big to say – just that I love my boy very much, and am so grateful to have him.