Saying our goodbyes

Sometimes when you say bye, the Little Mister waves. Sometimes he doesn’t. He’s getting lots of opportunities to do it this week. We have started saying goodbye to our friends and the Little Mister’s friends and playmates.

He has only known them for a year. They’re just getting to take notice of each other. Although only to take toys off each other. It’s still not quite playing together. Through Milin I’ve met some other wonderful mummies and become closer to people I already knew. He’s just starting to get to know Wellington, the city he was born in, and we are saying goodbye.

It is less than a week until we go. We said goodbye to some very good friends on Saturday. Over a drink and some snacks, while the babies played with cars and trucks at our feet, we looked back, looked forward, and I tried not to cry. It’s hit me this week. I’m leaving a life I love, I’ve already left a job I loved, and we are parting ways with too many people.

It’s too late, Tony said, to change your mind. There were boxes all around us and I still had packing tape in the hand I didn’t use to wipe away the tears.

Of course, you can’t have everything, and this has been my choice. It’s ok, I think, to be sad for what we’ll leave – while at the same time being excited for all that will be new.

On Saturday, the wind howled around us as we walked to our leaving party. It made me feel better about going. But on Sunday, Wellington turned on it’s sunniest most beautiful charm. Under a bright blue sky, the Little Mister squealed when I put his toes in the icy water of the South Coast. He might grow up like his father and rarely swim in the sea, but I hope not.

We took him to the aquarium where he got his fingers in the water and played with the seaweed after pointing at the big fish and octopus. We said goodbye to our antenatal group – our first baby club – our group who got to know each other so well because we were all sleep deprived at some point and getting desperate for tips, advice, anything that might work. Tomorrow, more goodbyes. More friends the Little Mister and I have in common.

We will wipe away tears though for this windy city, and very soon, as long as the snow clears and we can land, we will say hello.

Adventures, adventures, adventures

WHEN I think back over the last few months and comb through the memories, I can’t put my finger on when it happened. When, my Little Mister, did you become such an independent adventurer?

We have had two little trips away recently and both have made me realise how grown up you are. And that you love exploring . A lot. You, my Little Mister, must be on the move at all times. Unless you are very tired from all the moving about. You aren’t walking yet, but you are pushing around everything you can find that goes. Being outside is also a million times better than being inside. Getting your hands into mucky stuff like cobwebs and dirt and oily car wheels doesn’t bother you at all.

Up north, you loved your grandfather’s dogs. You exhausted them and had no fear. Down south at a wedding, you amazed everyone at how fast you could go, accelerating and then suddenly being nowhere to be found. Where has the baby gone, they would say? I always saw.

You always have your eyes on the next adventure. Usually, you don’t mind if I’m there or not. You can figure out all these games by yourself and, in fact, that’s the way you prefer. I’m glad you’re so brave, and so inquisitive. Your life, Little Mister, is a million miles an hour right now, just in case you miss anything out. It’s so much fun for us grown ups around you – but sometimes we struggle to keep up!

It’s been a special summer. You have two top teeth, and you didn’t complain about them at all. You met your great-grandmother, and you loved her. You discovered garlic bread and it kept you quiet and still in a high chair. You learnt the meaning of some new words – ‘rain’ was your least favourite because it meant staying indoors. But best of all, you showed me that you just want to have adventure after adventure after adventure. And I reckon that’s great.

 

 

Happy First Birthday

YOU are one, Little Mister. Happy birthday. It is the last day of the year, and we have blown out a single candle and sung to you. Happy birthday. It’s been the best year of our lives.

One year ago, on your very first day in this world, we held you fearfully. You were so small and precious and fragile. Still heavily drugged, I felt nothing less than awe that you were ours. You were so perfect, how would we be good enough for you? After a week, we came home. I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do. I cried. What if I got it wrong?

But since then, you have made each day brighter. You have helped me along the way, guiding me in what to do. You have made us laugh all the time. You have amazed us with how much you have grown each day, how much you have changed and how much you have learnt.

Slowly you became more aware of the world around you. You started to know us and we started to know you. Sometimes now I think I know your every sound, your every movement, and your every expression – but then you come up with a new one.

From little squeaks, you are trying to talk. Bird, car, bath, book, ball, Dad and Mama when you are tired – these are your words. Today, you stood on your own for a few seconds for your Dada. I missed it.

You can clap now, with both hands meeting in the middle. You think it’s great, and it is. You know your nose, and mine. You point to tell me things, and you love touching pointing fingers ET-style.

We celebrated at the zoo today, playing in the playground, telling the giraffes you were one, and laughing at the baby monkeys. You made the sun shine. We came home and blew out the candle on the last piece of our wedding cake I’d finally remembered to defrost. You tasted some. You cried when I took it away.

You have made us both better people. You have opened our eyes to the world again, and made us appreciate what we have. You have made us strive to be better, to make things better for you. But you have also taught us real fear. Fear that we will not be good enough, fear that you will know pain, fear that you will one day feel anguish. Perhaps it is this fear that drives us to make everything as good as we can for you.

You have taught me about love, about joy, about learning, about wonder, about seeing everything for the first time. You have made me less selfish and made me want the world for you.

Little Mister, you are one. You have made the days and hours fly, but you have taught me to savour them as they pass. I am so looking forward to another year. I know that again, each day, you will amaze me. Happy birthday my love. X

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Our First Christmas

CHRISTMAS was wonderful. The Little Mister loved every second, and he was as excited and happy as I hoped he would be. I had promised not to go overboard on presents, but he still thought opening them was just as much fun as playing with them. He particularly liked the tags, but was kind enough to me to figure out that the main event was the shiny, music-making plastic stuff inside.

Our little family went to the park, had a delicious barbecue in the garden, laughed, played, and spent a day very, very happy. It all happened under a boiling 29 degree heat that next year, in England, we will look back on while we shiver. The Little Mister spent most of it playing in his bath under the shade of our trees. Happy first Christmas Little Mister. I didn’t make your stocking, you weren’t surrounded by cousins and grandparents, and we didn’t have a tree, but it was wonderful.

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‘Twas the night before Christmas

and we waited for Santa. With stockings hanging above the fireplace, a bedtime story about reindeer, and kisses filled with wishes of sweet dreams, we waited for the Little Mister’s first Christmas.

I wasn’t meant to buy many presents, because they’ll just have to go into boxes for shipping across the world anyway. But the Little Mister has been so very good this year, that I reckon he deserves some fun and games with wrapping paper tomorrow. I bet it will taste good. He tried to get into some of the wrapped up parcels tonight. But he gave up when he couldn’t figure out how to open them. Toys already out of boxes and on the shelf won. He didn’t seem that excited. Yet. After all, it’s only the night before Christmas, and he is only nearly one.

Happy first Christmas Little Mister.

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Filling the world with love

There has been too much sadness in the world this past week.

My heavy heart is aching for the beloved children left behind. For those that had a parent taken when it wasn’t their time. For those that ran into their mothers’ arms, safe, but having come face to face with evil while much too young.

My heart cannot bear the weight of imagining the thoughts of those parents who have had their lives destroyed. To have a child taken so senselessly. My mind cannot understand the grief, or comprehend the hell that will be life now.

What world is this? Were we right to have a child, when this is the earth he shall live on?

How will I keep him safe? How will I bear that he will know sadness and evil? How will I stop myself from sheltering him from wrong, because surely he must one day learn that this world is more than all that is good.

This is the world he will grow in. With its death, grief, pain and anger, this is the world he will come to know. Yet he will also come to know its love, its joy, its sunshine and its goodness. For this is the side of the world I must strive each day to show him.

What can I do for him, my precious innocent boy? I can love him completely, with love that he will know and feel forever. I can show him the best of this world, so he can live his life to the fullest. I can teach him about all that is good, so he can carry goodness in his heart wherever he goes. I can share with him happiness, so his life is joyful and he wishes the same for others.

But one day too, I can be honest. When he asks about the world’s pain, its lies and its senseless evils, I can answer his questions. I probably still won’t know the answers, but I’ll answer as truthfully and as completely as I can. I won’t ever be able to tell him why. But I will still be doing everything I can to fill his world with love.