So, behind our backs, he somehow became ten. Ten...and like all mothers, I suppose, all I can do is remember the first time I held him. He was 18 months and one day old, a fuzz of orange hair, huge and slightly anxious blue eyes, bandy legged and I picked him up to kiss him and said, "Mummy's here". And I loved him crushingly. And now he is so big and capable, with his mop of copper hair and his dancing blue eyes, and I still pick him up to kiss him and I still love him crushingly.
And I love looking on at this boy, adoring him as he grows up. We're all so proud of him and how far he's come. He's been so excited about his double figures and how grown up and big it feels to be a decade old, and we can see how fast he is changing and learning so ten feels like a huge deal to all of us. He is really starting to live his own life now, to stand alone, finding his feet and becoming more his own person.
We often tease the children about how they must not get any older and how cross we are that they are having yet another birthday, but then we cuddle them and say how happy we are to be here with them as they grow up and become ever more fascinating and lovely, steadily becoming the man or the woman God means them to be. I'm as pleased as punch to have this ten year old in my life. He's the nicest boy I know.