Four years tomorrow the midwife placed his hot steaming body into my arms, he did not cry, but just looked up at me, his big big eyes looking into mine, his tiny hands holding my finger, and I knew I would love him forever. We would glide through life wrapped in a maternal love affair, the hours of labour a distant memory. We had a new life to ride. My little 3, growing into 4.
And how the years have past, and how he has grown, and how things have changed around him. He has learnt to love and has a big heart. A heart that does not tire easily. When his sister arrived he left a banana round her head as he thought she was hungry. He happily moved over to make room for her, he is her teacher and reads to her without knowing the words. He is a pirate who will walk in the woods until he finds his den. He is a painter who believes paint is for exploding fireworks onto the page. He is an art critic who tells me my work is beautiful. He is a runner, who can run faster than the wind. He is a super hero, with nine lives as he leaps fearlessly from pillar to post. He is a writer, eploring his name. He is a linguist, as he thinks the milkman speaks Spanish when in fact he comes from the East End of London. He is a philosopher finding the curiosities of the world confusing, and has patience when I find it hard to explain. ('How do babies come out mama', 'they look for the light Dillon','yeah, they look for the light mama) My little three, growing into four.
You see this is a big year for him, because he himself will be taught by a teacher, as next September he will start big school. We will have to close the door at pre school and open another chapter, with new shiny faces, carrying books and bags for sport. Faces that will support him through the next few years, guiding and shaping him from the lovely boy that he is, and turn him into the little man he will become.
Happy Birthday, my son. For the years we have shared, I thank you. My little three, growing into four. Mamma loves you very much. xx