2

Dear Finn.

Happy Birthday Baby! Two years old already and a little monster with it!

This morning your eyes nearly fell out of your head when you came down to a little pile of presents. Never before has there been Noddys and Batman balloons and choo choos before breakfast! You were thrilled and excited and so overwhelmed you threw the mother of all tantrums and had to go and sit on the Thinking Couch. It was hilarious. You my scrumptious little baby are hilarious.

Yesterday you declared that Helen was your other Mummy, that GanGan was your GanGan Mummy  and Nana, your NanaMummy. I love it that your love is so fierce for them. I love it when you smother me in baby kisses, say Sowwy (sorry), and talk to your Tiggers as you fall asleep. I don’t love the way you keep pinching poor little Gabriel. The child is an angel for putting up with you!

Today we will go and get more presents at Nana’s, then when Daddy comes home (he’s working the most ludicrously long hours at the moment, and we miss him don’t we?), we are going to go to the toyshop and buy you a kitchen (I’ll make a Domestic God of you yet!) and a train set and too many other ugly toys for me to think about, then we will go for birthday tea and eat glutton free cake and Mommy and Daddy may even drink a glass of wine or two in celebration and astonishment that against all odds we have created somebody so utterly wonderful and managed to keep you thriving for the past two years!!

We can’t tell you how much you mean to us, how, as Gayla says, we were both kind of re-invented the day you were born. Prides chokes me frequently. People stop me in the street constantly to talk to you, to ruffle your delicious curly hair or stare into your big brown eyes. The funny thing is that you are just the child I knew we would have. Yur face isn’t unexpected, because as I have always said, a part of me has always known who you would be. We love you to bits and everyday we are truly amazed at the wonderfully funny, lovely little boy you are becoming.  There is nothing other than the joy of contentment, that we wish for you. We don’t think of who or what you will become and in all honesty have no ambition for you to be anything other than yourself.

You are not ours and we honour and respect that.

So dear babba, this is to wish you a happy birthday! Tomorrow everyone we love will come for a teeny little party. I am having to have a strict word with myself in order to persuade myself that having Batman plates will not destroy my reputation, not when I know it will thrill you to bits and more than likely send you into a frenzy of excitement…

Life couldn’t get any better.

Love you babba.

Mummy and Daddy.