Hey rascal. Mummy here. You know, the one who tells you ALL the time to brush your teeth, eat your vegetables, flosses in front of your mates because she knows it embarrasses you and makes (in your words) the best lasagne ever? (It totally is by the way...)
I'm writing this whilst I'm watching you and your Daddy swimming in the pool on holiday. You know how Mummy is beyond rubbish at swimming but Daddy and you are great at it. I just stopped typing to see and laugh at Daddy launching you in the air at a rate of knots while you screamed in delight and begged him to do it all over again. I love watching you two messing around. You are the double of each other, except you haven't got a beard just yet. But you are only seven I suppose.
I'm not entirely sure where those seven years have gone. In one sense it seems like yesterday since I first held you on that thundery August evening, saying "Hi little guy, I'm your Mummy and you will never know how much I love you." In another sense, those seven years have whizzed past faster than you can learn a Fortnite dance and makes me wonder where the time has gone.
I do seem to remember that the years between around 2 and 3.5 years old were, shall we say, challenging, interesting and a learning curve for me. You started the "terrible twos" pretty well, only occasionally playing up and never giving me the kind of Mum heart attack that comes with opening cupboards that you shouldn't or eating dirt. Then you swiftly turned into a "threenager" who refused sleep, loved nothing more than a really good loud tantrum now and again and had me doubting my parenting abilities on a daily, if not hourly, basis. I have a great video of you on your third birthday after we'd come back from a successful trip to the zoo and it was obvious you needed a little power nap before your party when the family were due to visit (and no doubt bring a huge amount of presents). But you, being the expert, decided absolutely no power nap was required. But a tantrum to end all tantrums most certainly was. I videoed it and have it safe in my arsenal of bribery for future reference over the next however many years. You can thank me later for that one.
Before I knew it, you were off to school. The mandatory photograph of you in your smart uniform and shiny shoes standing next to the front door (why is it always next to the front door?!) was snapped and off we went to meet your new teacher and set the ball rolling in the next chapter of your life so far.
And you hated it. You cried Every Single Morning. You were sent to the Headteachers office on more than one occasion for a number of reasons, my personal favourite being the time you allegedly tried to strangle another child. (You didn't, you were trying to get a piggy back whilst playing superheroes apparently....) Not a morning went by when I didn't leave you sobbing and I would swiftly follow suit, wiping smeared mascara down my face on my walk home. Large dark sunglasses were my favourite accessory whether it was sunny July or darkest December to hide my red eyes and hurting heart.
But then you would skip out of school each day with a huge smile on your face declaring that you "loved it" and couldn't wait to go back. Your favourite things were, and are still, carrot cake at break time, football at lunchtime and playing with your friends - not exactly "Reading, Writing and 'Rithmatic' but hey....
I love seeing how popular you are with your friends. Luckily you've not encountered the absolute hell that is bullying at school as I did, and I truly hope you never do. You have a great little bunch of pals, hopefully friends for life, the ones that organise your stag do in the future. (I'm already chuckling to myself imagining you lot doing this...) You are my star footballer, bringing back trophies on a regular basis and have a golf swing that amazes me every time I see it.
You are a mini version of your Daddy which makes me smile every time I look at you together. You have my slightly questionable sense of humour and when we laugh together we laugh until we cry, making up the daftest of daft jokes that no one else would ever understand. You are kind, compassionate and, quite simply, you are my very favourite seven year old.
Happy birthday little guy,
Love, Mummy xx