I wrote a letter to your sister earlier this week, and as a parent to twins it would be a bloody poor show if I didn’t write one to you as well. But that is not why I am writing.
I hope one day you will read this blog (when allowed) and know that although others read my words before you did, they were written just for you.
You turn ten tomorrow little love. At 11.58am, two whole minutes after your sister graced the world with her presence., making you the middle child. I always knew you were going to be a boy, and to be honest, I was a little freaked when pregnant with the knowledge that I was growing a man inside me. The weight of responsibility always felt greater when it came to rearing a member of the opposite sex. I was out of my comfort zone.
When I felt you kick me from the inside, and people told me I was having a footballer, I knew that in reality you would be far more. My dreams for you have always for you to be happy, and to be kind, generous, respectful to all, the type of boy any mother would want her daughter or son to end up with.
At ten, officially over the halfway mark to adulthood, you are all those things and more.
When you were born, I used to feed the two of you together, a babe in each arm and a bottle in each hand. It wasn’t always easy. If a friend was around, I would always let someone else have the pleasure of feeding one of my babies. They would often take your sister.
Not because she was cuter, or quieter, but because she didn’t suffer from reflux, so wouldn’t instantly bring her feed back up aggressively once the bottle was put down.
You did. Spectacularly.
Only really my mother and I would feed you, we didn’t give a fig where your vomit ended up.
You would grab hungrily for the bottle, your piercing blue eyes would melt into mind and your little fingers would grip around my pinky protectively. My heart broke at every feed, until I had you and your sister, I had never really known love.
Luckily, ten years on, the vomiting has stopped…. Although your eating habits still leave a little to be desired…
And you have traits of me, the better parts of me. You live with your head in a book, you finish one and pass it to me, and vice versa. I love this. You care so much, and look to do the best wherever you can. You have a beautiful mischievous streak that verges on naughty, that can make us howl with laughter or want to brain you in a second. You make me laugh all the time.
When your Dad and I split up, I know you found it tougher than you let on, and I have seen you cry when you thought no one was looking, You told me after a year that you didn’t want me to be worried about you as well as everything else. How you learnt at nine to be that strong is inconceivable, and you didn’t need to, but thank you.
You can cry on me whenever you want, don’t listen to the fools that say boys shouldn’t cry, crying is like laughing, you need to do it to fully feel the emotion.
So Happy Birthday my beautiful brave boy. Tomorrow, we will start the day in hospital, hoping for good news post your recent surgery, then we will dine like kings in the evening.
There will be cake.
I love you Owen.