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Happy Birthday, little fella
By ella | May 29, 2005
Dear William,
William, my baby. There is so much I want to say about you, my little fella. When your brother was born I couldn’t imagine loving another baby as much, but of course I did. You are almost 2 now and not a baby anymore. You love to fight with your big brother. You love to dive, footballer-style, when you tantrum although you always check first to see if anyone is watching otherwise it’s not worth doing, is it? You love to hang your head when you know you have been naughty. You love to kiss your brother to say sorry, or just to kiss him. When we come downstairs in the morning, your little body stiffens when you see the dogs and you shout “wer, wer” [woof, woof] in anticipation of hugging them. When we come downstairs after your afternoon nap, your little body stiffens when you see your older brother and you shout “Bubby” in anticipation of kissing him.
But you are such a boy. You love rough and tumble. Your favourite time of the day is when Daddy comes home at bedtime (a rare event as Daddy is often not around at bedtime). And while I try to calm everything down a bit, I can’t help standing there smiling as I watch you both roughhouse, you getting increasingly excited and excitable. Then you will lie down together and cuddle, looking into each other’s eyes adoringly, until you decide it’s time for more rough stuff and then you leap up laughing and goad your father into more play.
You eat and sleep for England. I sometimes see the look on other mothers’ faces when they see you in action at the dinner table. I wish I could take the credit for being a great mother and weaning you perfectly so that you loved every taste that I offered you, but the truth is you just love food. And after a busy day (which is every day), you are always ready for bed, always happy to let go of the day, rarely waking except for the worst teething pain or when you are poorly. While every mother hopes for a happy, healthy baby, hopes for a good sleeper must surely be close behind.
But you are still my baby. Every morning just before lunch, when you are starting to get tired, you will find your muzzy comforter and climb into my lap, placing your muzzy just so on my shoulder. Then you suck your fingers while I kiss your head. I can let go of most of the baby stuff, but the day this little routine of ours ends I shall know that you are really no longer a baby.
Tomorrow you turn two. Last year I could barely celebrate, I was in such depths of depression. Today I am as excited to wrap your presents and make your cake as you will be to see them tomorrow and for that I am incredibly grateful. You are my baby and also my little boy. I can’t imagine loving anything more than I love you. Happy Birthday little fella.
Love
Mummy
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