A letter to my son on the eve of his 3rd birthday.

Dear T,

Tomorrow you are three years old. Happy birthday son. I hope to treat you and hope to give you as much fun as you deserve. Sound good? Cool. But first I just want to, nay have to, say some things. You will probably never read this, but I have to get it out. Somehow.

I’ve seen you grow, from a 6lb 7oz thing that I had no clue what to do with, to a 3 year old boy who I still have no clue what to do with, but you know what? That’s fine. We roll with it don’t we? Parenting, as I hope you’ll find out one day, is something where no-one gives you a guide-book when the baby’s born. You just have to make it up as you go along, trust your instincts, and hope you’re doing the right things. You seem a happy boy. Intelligent. Bright. Funny. Warm. Affectionate. Loving. Creative. Generous. Handsome. You are like warm, glorious sunshine to me. If someone had told me that I could be responsible for a child like you I would never have believed them.

Time is slipping away from us my son. Soon those days of play from morning till bedtime will be gone. I won’t be here any more, full-time, and it’s feels like someone is stamping on my heart, breaking my very soul. It’s not you. Never you. Never could be you. But simply the fact that the two people who love you more than anything in the world, don’t feel the same way about each other. We don’t love you less. I love you more each day. Who would ever thought that could be possible, because when I first saw you I loved you utterly.

There will come a day soon. Very soon. When I will move from this house and we will no longer see each other as much. You’ll soon be the man of the house. Much as I hate that phrase as you’re only 3, there is some truth to it. Please  look after your mum and be kind and loving to your sister. Take time to enjoy things as you do, singing, playing and doing all the different voices for your toys. And never be sad. Please. I can do that for both of us. Always remember that whatever tough things you go through, if I could take your place, or take them away from you I would. Without thinking. In a heartbeat.

I will speak to you every day if I can. And I’ll look at the moon just as you’re going to bed, and hope that you’ll be doing the same. We’ll see each other there eh? Every night.

Always proud of you and always, eternally, endlessly, your loving father.

PS. I apologise for the terrible haircut I gave you today. I’ll not do that again. I promise.

First published February 12th, 2012.


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