Monday, 6 December 2010

It had to take something pretty big to knock meeting Bono off the top of my blog.

Nine.

Nine years ago, the clouds parted and some random angel trusted me with this guy:


Obviously, there had been some kind of mistake. But I wasn't giving him back, and had some kind of inner transformation in the blink of an eye. I was home. For the first time ever.




Worried about how Tim would cope ... but he was just beautiful with him. Still is.



In learning how to look after this guy, I learnt how to look after myself. It had to be him - only him, who could cut through my layers. (There were a lot of layers.)



Aged two:


Aged nine:


Max, one day you will find out the hugeness of my huge love for you. I hope you will think that's pretty cool. I hope I don't make *too* many mistakes along the way, and I hope I will be quick to apologise when I do. I love how, about ten minutes ago, you swatted a mosquito and said 'MUM! I heard its bones break!' I love how you wish all the bubblers at school had cola in them. But guess what mate ... if they did, it wouldn't be so fun, after a while. Too much of a good thing isn't always good for you. (Trust me on this one.)

You had your bi-yearly birthday party yesterday. There were thirteen noisy nine-year-old boys running around my house, doing stinky poos in my toilet .... we will be outsourcing your next party.


"What? I had NOTHING to do with this." -



I promise to take you to see U2 on their next tour. I promise to look you in the eyes more. I promise to be a better mother. I promise to always promise to be a better mother.




You are magical.

Max, the tricky thing sometimes is to not point out how good you've got it. Parenting is hard. I want to say 'You are so lucky! You are so spoilt! Both of your parents are still together and we both love you so much ... do you know how lucky you are?'

I guess you will realise that of your own accord one day. And just enjoy your childhood, in the meantime.

You got home from school today and begged me to search for "The Poop Song" on YouTube. So we did. At last count, we've watched it seven times, laughing louder at every viewing.



Happy birthday - your last one as a single digit. What?

One day, I will correct you when you call your heart your "love heart."

One day.

Love,

Mum XOXOX
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