I am not quite sure how that crept up on us.
Seven sounds really old, it doesn’t have the still babyish connotations of six instead it sounds like it is creeping up to a time when you will say mum more than mummy and my baby pair will be no more.
Yet I couldn’t be more proud of you, of the changes you have made, the people have become in the last twelve months.
I won’t lie, it has not all been plain sailing; some days I could gleefully put you both on ebay without a reserve prize and we won’t talk about the time I tried to put you out with the rubbish.
But the highlights have been high.
Molly, it feels like in the last five months you have reduced me to a gibbering wreck most days with your daily achievements, how you have sailed through a life changing diagnosis which would have stopped me in my tracks. In December you sang a solo in your school play, it broke me, in such a beautiful, wonderful way.
Owen, you have grown into a loud, confident, cheeky to the extreme little man who still seeks me out for hugs in between playing Moshi Monsters and dancing to Gangnam Style. You make me fold with laughter with your terrible jokes and your fabulous sense of humour.
I adore you kids; seven years ago when I lay in hospital a babe in each arm I was terrified I would make a hash of parenting. Some would argue there is still room for improvement but together we are doing better every day.
Happy 7th Birthday,
Love you so much my hearts aches.