1459 days we’ve spent together but it’s been 1460 nights.
35, 040 hours have past since you were first laid upon my bare breast and you looked straight at me, straight in my eyes, and they said –
I KNOW YOU.
That first night with you beside my bed I couldn’t sleep a wink. I couldn’t believe you were here. I couldn’t believe you were mine.
So perfect, so sweet smelling. That didn’t last.
Countless heartbeats have passed between us but your heartbeats are your own now. I used to feel every one, but you are getting more distant as you turn from a baby into a boy. In a few more blinks of my eyes you’ll be a man.
They always said it goes fast, and it does. Not the nights. The endless, drawn out nights where you cried, or were ill, and I held you, but they seem so far away now when all you want from me is maybe a quick cuddle or to take you for a pee before you roll over and snuggle your face into Rat and spoon that toy that is no longer bigger than you.
You’re so confident and smart. You chat to people, and you charm them with your funny wit or silliness, unless you drive them nuts with your whining. That happens too.
You surprise me and delight me endlessly and I really couldn’t be prouder of you.
The first birthday that I won’t be with you all day.
I feel a healthy dose of mother’s guilt over that, but it’s also the first birthday that your Papa has spent the whole day with you. He’ll show you a grand old time and we’ll kick it large on the weekend with a chocolate cake bigger than your head.
When we were leaving the supermarket today I gave you and Kiki a biscuit. You were stoked, but your cranky pants sister didn’t want it and she hit it out of my hand and onto the ground.
Then she wanted it, naturally.
I refused to give her another, and nor would I pick the one up off the carpark floor, and she squawked and squawked. As we were driving off she suddenly went quiet. I figured she was inhaling a really huge breath in order to give it some more however when I turned she was eating half a biscuit.
Now, don’t get me wrong, boy, you are a stinker when you want to be, and you torture that poor sister of yours, but in that moment I saw your true character, and you’re a good dude.
Happy birthday, D Man.
I love you to the shops and back,