The day your child is born, your whole life changes.
That rings true, at least in my mind, with every child, no matter how many you have. Their birthdates are synonymous with the roller-coaster of emotions that mothers (again, in my case – although I suspect fathers have a different gamut of emotional debuts) encounter.
Of course, a birthday is something for the individual concerned to celebrate, another year of life lived successfully or otherwise; the power of The Hour however holds an instantaneous evocation of that first time a mother holds her newborn child. Life has taught me that this never fades, regardless of the passage of time since the event.
There are three of these dates for me. Today is one of them. Thirty-two years ago today, I first clasped my eyes upon the tiniest human I had ever seen up until that point. She had wisps of golden, red-blonde fluff that formed a halo around her head and the very bluest eyes that had ever been espied. And, like her perfect sister only eighteen months before, she had a pretty pink rosebud mouth which she formed into an ‘O’ as she struggled to fix her sapphire orbs on my face.
Happy Birthday to my glorious, wonderful baby, Natalie. You have been an inspiration to me since that day and I suspect for ever more. Forgive an ancient crone this outpouring of indelicate emotion – but know how much you are loved and let’s celebrate!