Today my blonde hair, blue eyed boy turns eighteen. He’s my baby, my second born and the last child that ever grew in mah belly. He’s also the only one that entered the world via my vagina. I like to remind him of this when he’s being a shit because, ewwww!
He’s a freakin adult. He can vote, buy beer and fight for his country.
He drives his OWN car, has a girlfriend and sleeps in until after midday. Lucky shit
Fuck he was sooo cute when he was a toddler. I know all mums say that but he was! He was a muscle bound monkey who loved climbing trees, the hills hoist and even mastered shimmying up the drainpipe to collect his brothers cricket balls from the roof….at two!
He was introverted and clingy and hated shopping. He REALLY hated shopping, there were tears and tantrums, lots of tantrums. But he loved nature, feeding ducks by the river and riding bikes with his Dad. He loved mornings at the beach collecting shells and splashing in the warm pools of salty water.
He called chickenpox ‘chicken pockets’, idolised his big brother and loved watching the best mannered bear on telly, ‘Little Bear’. Even though he was a muscly, gravelly voiced dude he was also soft and squidgey with as much love to give as he had energy. Bucketloads!
These days he’s tall, willowy, tanned and rolls his eyes. The bloody eye roll shits me, but I reckon he learned that from his mumma so I gotta learn to pick my battles.
I love him.
I love him so much I sometimes push him away, because my care and concern is considered ‘interfering’ or ‘judgement’. I want to be there to catch him but I can’t always be.
I want to give him the strength that sometimes evades him. I want to snatch away all his worries and blow them into the wind like the days we blew wish inducing dandelions together back when he was a toddler.
Oh, if only I could blow away those worries.
This little boy with white hair, round cheeks and pudgy hands that screamed like a girl but had the deep voice of a man who loved scotch has grown up.
Gone is the bedroom filled with EVERYTHING ‘Toy Story’ and Lego, all the snuggle blankets are packed away and afternoons spent making forts with bedsheets and furniture are now a sweet, tightly held memory. Afternoons of homework while munching on mums home baked biscuits and cakes are also a distant memory, for both of us.
These days my baby is now a man, he still has that deep voice and he has the softest heart, a heart I hope those girls are careful with. God help them they had better be!
That boy I grew in mah belly, he went and grew up.
Happy eighteenth birthday my son. I love you to infinity and beyond.