Happy Birthday Oscar

Dear Oscar

Today you are three.  You don’t know that yet because you are fast asleep upstairs, and actually, given your recent ambivalence about growing up, maybe it’s best it stays that way for now.

This will be here for you to read later, in a few years when you’re cool with the idea of being three, or whichever birthday you choose to celebrate at the time. It’s just numbers honey, foxes heads on sticks as your  dad says.  As long as there is cake, all will be well.  And there will be cake.  And lots of love.  Always lots of love.

You have done a huge amount of growing this year, physically and emotionally. I can hardly keep up with how fast you are changing.  Sometimes it makes me sad. Your beautiful, baby features are thinning out into resolute boyishness, your knees don’t have dimples any more and you are Just Oscar. Just Oscar who talks about when he was a baby instead of just getting on with being one.

Sometimes it makes me glad.  I love the fact that we can chat about things, even if what we chat about revolves around cats wearing jet packs and dinosaurs and the correct way to hold a spanner.  That’s cool.  I love the fact that you are enjoying your independence so much, that you run and leap and climb and play with such relentless enthusiasm and you can do it on your own.  You are so sure of yourself and your ability. It’s fantastic to watch.

I am holding on tight to the fact that sometimes you still love getting kisses, even though most of the time you struggle to run away and brush them off like dust.  It makes my heart sing when you call down the stairs; ‘Mummy. I am sending you kisses. Did you get my kisses?’ when I put you to bed.  I love it when you run to meet me out of nursery and hug my knees so tightly I think they might break, and your face lights up with a huge smile, because you love that we are family, as you tell me.  It’s a privilege to be part of your family.

You are my son, and I love you, even when you are sticking your bottom lip out like a soup plate and refusing to look at me.  Even when you shout; ‘I AM NOT CROSS AND I AM NOT SORRY,’ or lounge insolently, arms behind your head on the naughty step, biding your time until you can get off and do something else evil.

You will always be my son, no matter what, and on this day, every year I am grateful that you came into my life and made it stickier.

Thanks

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