My baby boy turned 4 today. Four - that's scary stuff. I hadn't given too much thought to not having a member of the three-and-under brigade in our household. But evidently my subconscious had been working overtime on it. Because this morning I woke up from a dream about delivering Mark to university. When I told hubby, he said "Which one?" - how's that for intellectual snobbery?
Thankfully such thoughts were quickly swept aside by the excitement of unwrapping of parcels, a spectacular new birthday shirt (thanks Auntie Tess) and a visit from one of my oldest and dearest friends and her brood.
Cake and candles had to wait until later than scheduled though, because a quick trip to Accident & Emergency got in the way.
Mark went flying over the handlebars of Johnny's scooter onto the tarmac. Thank goodness he was wearing a helmet or the damage would have been a lot lot more serious.
As it is, they stuck him back together again and he seems none the worse for wear. At least he has learnt some valuable life lessons - Mummy's draconian rules regarding wearing helmets when riding bikes are there for a reason and in a contest of flesh vs road, there is only ever going to be one winner.
I deserve a large glass of wine and an early night. Giving birth often seems the easy part of bringing them up and keeping them in one piece. I would share Johnny's birth story, but the straightforward ones which are done and dusted in three hours seldom get air time. That's my little (big) boy. Uncomplicated, undemanding, but very special for it. Happy Birthday Johnny.