A Decade of Motherhood - A Lifetime of Memories

Yeah, so it's that time. The annual birthday auxiliary input. Our middle child has just turned seven. Our youngest, four. Their celebrations can best be described as a touch of magic with mayhem en masse. Literally. We hosted a magic party for 45 three to seven year olds. The magician even had a rabbit. A live one. It wasn't harmed in the making of the magic. It wasn't harey at all. Yeah I couldn't help that.

This year with my routine ramble, I'm going to try and embrace that elusive little thing called brevity. Even though I'm celebrating a milestone. It's a big 'un. Our firstborn is 10. And I could talk for days. About lots of things. But mostly about our son. The fact that he's 10. And I'm hoping that one day he'll read this. And if it's rammed to the rafters with text, there are no pictures and it's not attached to a controller in front of a game that starts in F...and ends in nite, it's a non-starter. I figured the best way would be to write him (and myself) a wee letter. Note, the wee. Yes and I note the guffaw.

Dear Oliver                                                                                

So on Monday the 8th of December 2008 at around 10am, I held you for the very first time. Ever so fleetingly mind as you were whisked off to an incubator for the next five hours. But that little cuddle was enough to seal the deal. I was smitten. I didn't know you were an Oliver. I thought during my pregnancy that you may be an Olivia. I'd never have admitted it then, not out loud anyway, but I really wanted a son. And there you were. I could scarcely believe my eyes. You didn't cry. You didn't fuss. You seemed rather unfazed by it all. You were completely bald. A long, lean fella. You looked to me a little like your Dad. And a lot like Gollum from The Lord of the Rings. And when you opened your eyes for the first time, those crazy blue eyes, and you looked up at me as if to say "So, what's up Mum?" - Oliver I can't describe to you that feeling. I felt like an absolute rockstar. So proud. And elated. I hope you are fortunate enough to experience this feeling one day. Meeting your firstborn for the first time. It truly is a pride and joy like no other. A moment that I will never forget.

So ten years eh bud. Through a rather rough first year of life. Spinal surgery and ICU and a lot we won't dwell on - because mum already has here. You nailed it though. Smiling through some testing times with that big smile. A happy toddler with a halo of blonde hair (that finally arrived), your favourite place was outdoors with a stick and your beloved Labrador Graham. The arrival of your sister you accepted with your trademark laidback vibe. A move to a new country was a crazy time for all of us, but you adjusted to an entirely different life remarkably well. A new little brother joined the fray and you've taken on the big brother role effortlessly. Being the firstborn isn't an easy gig. It's hard not to feel responsible for everyone. I know it all too well. It made me kind of more psycho. But you're totally relaxed about it all. When they maul you. Which is often. You're kind Oliver. To your siblings. To your friends. To everyone. And what a tribute that is. To you. To the boy you are. And the man you're becoming. Carry on with the kind. Ok, so missioning to Mars with NASA would be pretty cool too. But your kindness is a special gift that defines you. And it can make someone's day. Or change a life. I know. It has done both for me.

So here's to the next decade and all the adventures that lie ahead. There will be many. It's you. You're quite a fan of adventure. Climbing on the roof at two years old, letting the air out of the tyres on your Granny's car, running naked in the bush, stunning a snake with a plastic spade, squealing with joy on the back (and front) of your dad's Harley Davidson, fishing with your shoe as bait in a dam with your grandfather, always climbing high, riding fast.

Being a mother for ten years is a milestone for me too. Keeping you sort of nourished, mostly clean, mildly sane, alive and kicking. Sheesh. What a journey. Thank you for guiding me through it all. Because let's face it, you're a lot more sensible than I'll ever be. Big love to you. And booyah to the brevity. Hashtag half nailed it. In 8 short years, you can pour us both a drink and we can cheers together. Today though, I raise a fizzy glass to you. The beautiful boy who made me a mum. Who made me softer. Gentler. Kinder. Who makes me smile every day. Happy Birthday. And thank you.

Love, your Mum