Sun – Happy Birthday – you are three today. This morning the weather was exactly as it was three years ago. Bright and crisp, with the sun shining and a clear blue sky. I remember standing in the hospital room, looking out over London with you just a few hours old in my arms, and thinking, ‘this is your world. It’s all right out there for you to explore and the journey starts now’. Too easily all the stages blend in my memory so this is how you are now.
If I had to describe you in three words I’d choose energetic, sweet and talkative.
You start talking in the morning before you’ve opened your eyes and you don’t cease until sleep has stopped you. I love listening to your internal monologue. In the mornings, you say hello to your Monkey, Bunny and Sheepy and after a quick chat you ask most politely, ‘Akscuse me? Mummy? Daddy? Can you hear me on the momitor?’ This polite request rapidly turns to a shouted demand, ‘GET ME UP’. You’re a toddler afterall and you are still learning patience.
You love your little sister so completely it blows me away. If I don’t have Shine in my arms when I come to get you up for the day, you want to know where she is before anything else. I love that you think of her and want to kiss and cuddle her at the start of every day. When she’s crying and I can’t get to her quick enough, you run to her and stroke her and tell her, ‘don’t worry, Sun is here, Mummy is coming.’ You sing to her in the car when she gets the sun in her eyes and you make her laugh when she’s getting tired and grizzly. Of course, you also steal food from her plate while she’s incapable of guarding it and you want to play with all her toys, mainly to the exclusion of her playing with them too. But that’s okay, I still think she is very lucky to have a big brother like you.
Your favourite food is fruit. Any fruit. In particular ‘yellow bits’ – the dried pawpaw and pineapple from my muesli that, fortunately, I don’t like. You love lasagne, and pasta with pesto and pancetta. And antipasti. I don’t know quite how many olives you could consume in one sitting but I’m guessing it is a large number as, when I’ve let you, you’ve happily eaten the entire tub.
You do a brilliant crab and penguin impersonation. Your air guitar is hilarious, as is your ‘man music’ rock-out face. You have your father to thank for your love of ‘man music’ (heavy metal or rock), and for all your silly faces and funny voices too. I see you mirroring him more and more as time goes by. You love your daddy in a way you love no other person. You scrap together and sometimes I wonder who is the toddler, but to see you tear to the front door when he gets home and kiss his knees warms my heart.
You can be exceptionally grumpy. This morning you opened the little bag of plastic choking hazards that comes with the CBeebies Magazine, despite me tell you to wait, and sent the contents flying all over the supermarket floor. You wailed and a lady working at the supermarket came to help pick them up. Maybe you thought she was taking them away as you told her in no uncertain terms, ‘go away or I’ll cover you in jam,’ whilst pulling your best Norman-from-Fireman-Sam nasty face. Sometimes I wish you weren’t quite as articulate as you are. And I wish you had never watched Fireman Sam.
Your favourite toy today is the plastic baking set that came with the magazine. You love baking. Especially ‘puc-cakes’, as you call them. Your favourite book today is Kipper’s Snowy Day. You’re currently very excited about Christmas, and I hope it snows this year or you’ll be very disappointed.
You’re also very excited about starting playgroup next week. It is the start of you making a path in this world on your own, without me at your side. You are ready to spend time away from me, but I will miss you so much, even though you’ll only be gone a few hours a day. Our home will seem very quiet without you here as you are a major noise generator! Sirens wailing, racing cars roaring, roadworks and building projects, your imaginary play is very loud.
From in utero you have always been a ball of energy. At three years old, that hasn’t changed. You bound forwards into life, incapable of walking when you can run instead. I love the way you are, and who you are becoming. Happy birthday, my little monkey, Sun.