My dear son,
Here are some things that will probably never make it into your baby book.
– I caught you licking Daddy’s foot file yesterday afternoon. Yes, the foot end.
– There was one time that you took a huge gulp of bathwater and then I realised there was a massive turd floating in it.
– When you found the chopped raw onion I’d knocked onto the kitchen floor and you ate it and had some kind of internal explosion, I lolled.
– I’ve now come into the bathroom twice to find you with the toilet lid up and your hands in the water. When did you learn to do that?
– One of your favourite things to play with from my handbag is my blister pack of paracetamol. I put it out of your reach every day, but you’re good at knocking it off or finding more.
– You chew on all sorts of wires. Daddy would have a techie implosion if he knew.
– I give you dessert almost every time we eat some. It seems mean not to, now you know what dessert is. And I love your expectant little begging face. To make myself feel better, I’m also obsessive about brushing your teeth.
– I clean your high chair once a day. This means that sometimes you sit down in stale food confetti for two meals out of three.
– When we’re eating out, I privately refer to your dummy as ‘the noise plug’.
– Sometimes your nappy pile gets three deep before I take it outside to the bin.
– I let you climb on high things because I like to see your proud face at the top. Often I leave you stranded there for a few minutes to remind you that climbing among sharp corners willy-nilly isn’t a great idea. You rush around so much and get so many bumped heads that we’re both used to it.
– You’ve developed an attachment to the biggest and ugliest teddy bear you were given as a baby. I am seriously considering ‘losing’ it before it’s too late.
Hope I’m a better homemaker by the time you’re old enough to remember it. If it helps, I think you’re the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen. I hope there won’t ever be a day in which I don’t remind you of it.
Now, please put down the paracetamol.