Happy birthday to my not-so-little boy

Current work: Modern Heat
Listening to: Fleetwood Mac, Rumours
Reading: next on TBA

Today is the day Son has been waiting for. The day when he turns 12 and I agree to measure his height and admit that yes, he is taller than I am.

Strange to think that twelve years and one day ago, DH was driving me to hospital, ready to be induced. He nearly crashed the car when I informed him that, actually, I was in labour already, because I’d just worked out why I’d woken up with a stomach ache in the middle of the night - and I was having contractions about ten minutes apart...

Note I don’t say twelve years ago today. Oh, no. Son was quite happy where he was and refused to come out. So, 42 hours and 11 epidural top-ups after my labour started (yes, REALLY - from stupid o'clock Monday morning to Tuesday evening), I had a caesarean section.

I remember that first night, when DH had finally gone home. I couldn’t get out of bed at that point, so the very kind midwife tucked my baby beside me for a cuddle. I remember how quiet it was, and how amazed I felt that we’d produced this little life. And how I kept looking at him to check he was really there and I wasn’t dreaming the whole thing. (I also remember DH putting the TENS machine on my back. Never, EVER, let a man with a remote-control habit anywhere near the controls for a TENS machine. 'What does this do? Oops, sorry!' Arrgh.)

Son has brought a lot of joy into my life. He’s given me grey hairs and a bit of worry, too, but I guess that’s what kids are meant to do. And he’s growing into a lovely young man – very kind, very bright, and a bit eccentric (he gets that one from both parents). Not to mention a cheeky grin. (Ten years later... it hasn't changed much from this.)

I’m incredibly proud to be his mum.

Happy birthday to my eldest.