A Letter to my Firstborn


To my firstborn,

In just a few months, you’ll be turning 6. Wow – how did that happen? With each day that passes, I notice you changing and growing. You’re still my little boy, but your body is changing; you sometimes talk with the eloquence of someone beyond your years and your mind is eager to drink in everything that this world has to offer. I’m excited for you but I also wish time would just slow down a little.

I look back to the morning when you took your first steps, and I remember thinking that I couldn’t imagine a time when I wouldn’t be amazed by you being able to put one foot in front of the other. Yet, here you are, running around the playground with your friends, jumping off the sofa and racing your little brother up the stairs. How did those first wobbly steps become the confident strides of a big boy, without me really noticing?

Sometimes I look you when you’re watching tv and I catch a glimpse of the boy you’ll become – somehow, your almost-six-year-old features seem to momentarily age, and I can see a teenager sprawled out in front of me, long limbs everywhere, taking over the sofa.

I watch how you enjoy playing the protective older brother role to Little Monkey – in-between annoying the hell out of him, of course.  I’m so proud when I watch you together, as you help him put his coat on in the mornings. It only feels like yesterday that I was helping you with your coat and showing you how to do the zip. Now I can’t remember the last time I did your zip up, which gives me a feeling of pride at your self-sufficiency and slight sadness that there’s one less thing you need me to do.

There are still lots of flashes of innocence and unbridled moments of joy that make my heart sing. I love the fact that you still get excited when you find an odd-shaped Hula-Hoop in the packet, thrusting it in my face with such enthusiasm, in a bid to showcase your discovery.

Or when you read a new word correctly and you try to act all cool and nonchalant, but I can see the pride radiating out from beneath the beaming smile that you’re trying to suppress.

Last week you asked me to carry you up the stairs – and it made me so sad. Not because you’d asked – I will carry you for as long as I can – but because I realised, as I heaved your long limbs up and around me, that it’s only going to be a little while longer before you become too heavy for me to carry. And for a mummy, that’s a horrible prospect to stomach.

Some of my most precious moments with you are the ones I steal when you’re asleep, tucked up in your bed. When you don’t have to pretend to be the tough guy, when you don’t have to worry about remembering your spellings or who said what to you in the playground. I watch you in slumber and I see hints of my baby, and glimpses of the boy you are to become.

I suppose the painful truth is that you, my darling boy, were never meant to stay little and be mine forever. And as your biggest fan,  I’ll always support you and love you and help you find your wings.

And when you’re towering above me at 6 foot tall, and you no longer want to marry me, or think I’m cool or funny – just remember that you owe me at least 6 years of piggybacks up the stairs.

Love you always,
Mummy x

Do you have a BMF?

Image courtesy of Retro Trace Vintage

Image courtesy of Retro Trace Vintage

Are you a BMF? That’s a Best Mummy Friend, for anyone not in the know {which is probably most of you, as I totally made that phrase up.}

But if you have kids, the likelihood is that you will also have a BMF. I don’t know what I’d do without my BMF…and neither do our husbands, because if we didn’t have each other, they’d have to listen to all of our child-related neurotic ramblings instead.

Here’s how you know if you have a BMF:

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A Guide to the Selective Hearing of a Preschooler

Selective HearingMy poor {almost} four-year-old son seems to have been cursed with selective hearing. I blame his father, as he has the same affliction, so clearly it must be genetic. I mean, I’m sure it’s not that he actively chooses to ignore me, no, no, no. Although he does respond immediately to the words ‘cake’ and ‘chocolate’, so fret not dear reader, all is not lost.

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7 Things my boys have taught me this Mother’s Day

IMG_8343-2At {nearly} four years and 17 months old, my boys are too young to really understand the concept of Mother’s Day. Although they woke me up this morning by shoving a rose in my face, ripping open the card they’d got me, tearing the envelope into tiny pieces and scattering it all over my bed…which was all done with loving intentions, I’m sure.

So this Mother’s Day, I thought I’d reflect on what they’ve taught me over the last four years:

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