On Newborns Turning Seven

My little newborn is turning seven tomorrow. 


I can't quite believe it. 


I so vividly remember everything from before his birth right up to to his birth. Everything. - vomiting spaghetti bolognaise, to telling Matt quite tersely that he'd better hurry up and anticipate my needs. And stop turning the damn lights on. I am an animal. I am in labour. I want to labour in the dark. In the nude. And PS - do not mess with me. 


I remember walking over 2 kms the afternoon before the birth - hiring Sex and the City and laughing when the guy shrilled "see you soon". I remember in my head thinking - "you will NOT see me soon sucker, I'm in labour!" I walked all the way home, having to rest every hundred metres or so while I rode out a contraction. 


I remember when Matt got home that evening. He worked as a framer (as he does now) and hugging him and bursting into tears. 


I remember my sister driving like the clappers to get us to the birth centre. The labour aid exploded all over my foot. And her car. Oops. 


I remember arriving at the birth centre and quite literally tearing my clothes off. 


And I remember coming home with that newborn in my arms. Terrified - the revelation that: "I am responsible for this baby surviving and thriving."


Happy 7th Birthday to my beautiful little man. I am so, so happy and proud that you chose me to be your mama. Ever since we first found out about you, you've brought us great joy. Thank you. x