Our Little Man came in to the world nine years ago today.
A false alarm, followed by lunch out at our favourite cafe in Lismore. A wander around the Southern Cross Uni labs – where I had to stop and lean against the benches to breathe when a contraction hit – then back home to try and have a rest before what I assumed would be a long night.
I couldn’t sleep for erratic contractions, so I telephoned my Sister. As I laughed at something she said my waters broke.
And 1 hour and 6 minutes later he was here.
The last week has been pure agony for him. Every night over dinner we’ve counted the days until the B-day. Last night he started milking the fact.
“Because it’s my birthday tomorrow…”
Birthdays in our house are special, not huge special, but special.
Cake of your choice – “Chocolate zucchini cake with chocolate frosting and covered in Jaffas, please Mum.”
Dinner of your choice – “Spaghetti with your special sauce, please Mum. And bacon and mushrooms in the sauce too.”
And no washing or wiping up duties – “Awesome!”
And all he really wanted for his birthday was the last Lego Kingdom set. The big castle – which my Little Man and the Big Boy promptly sat down and started making. Breakfast? Who needs food!
And about 2 hours later it was done. Good thing he had a late start for school this morning.
So happy birthday my darling Little Man. I still want to call you Small Boy, because you’ll always be my Small Boy, even though you are getting taller, and cheekier, and wittier, and older…
I love you, Murdoc-with-no-H.