For Harry on your 7th Birthday

Harry,

Every year when your birthdays come around, I struggle to find the words to write. Not just because it feels hugely emotional that the baby of our family is growing so fast, knowing that for every first it will also be our last, but sometimes I just worry that I won’t do justice in describing what a happy, kind and loving little boy you truly are. I have genuinely never known a child quite as lovely as you; you are one of a kind in all of the best ways possible.

Your Daddy and I often joke that you live on a completely different planet, away in your own little world quite unlike ours, and yet as the years pass and we watch you grow, I would give just about anything to live in that world with you. A world where there are no down days, no bad moods, no short tempers or impatience; a world where you are blissfully unaware of cross words of hostility, where you jump out of bed each morning with a smile on your face which never falters until your head hits the pillow. I used to think you were oblivious to everything that goes on around you and yet actually, I don’t think that’s the case at all. I think you are far more switched on than we give you credit for but you simply choose to see the world in a different light and that in itself is pretty special.

This year hasn’t been easy for you Harry, although you’ve never once expressed that or allowed it to impact on your happiness. Not only have you had to deal with lockdowns, navigating home schooling and isolation from your family and friends, but you’ve struggled on a personal level in ways I’m still not sure how to put into words. Earlier this year you gave us all a huge scare when you suffered a seizure, after months of concerns for your health, and it’s safe to say we were terrified. To see you undergo tests in hospital was incredibly hard, watching you lie completely still having brain scans, still giving me the thumbs up from inside of the scanner, was a difficult time for us to say the least. And perhaps it doesn’t end here, perhaps there is more ahead to cope with, more appointments, more referrals, more questions as to whether the things which make you Harry are the things which may require more support, but I honestly wouldn’t change you for all the world my gorgeous boy.

But those aren’t the moments I want to dwell on and those labels say nothing about the kind of little boy you are or the moments I want you to look back on one day and remember, even when you’re as old as I am right now. You are literally bursting with love Harry, for me, for Daddy, for your brothers and sisters and your Grandparents, sometimes even just strangers on the street – you give your love and affection so freely. But it’s your kindness which continues to blow me away; there isn’t a bad bone in your body, not one mean thought or unkind gesture, and I sometimes wonder how we ever got so lucky in that way.

When I think about the year you were six I’ll remember your excitement the day we dug out Lewis’s old Nintendo Wii and you played Mario for the first time and how, in just a matter of days, you had mastered the entire game completing all nine levels from start to finish. I’ll remember the many, many hours you spent talking about Mario, telling me about every single power up and short cut, showing me every move and every skill, and how when you weren’t playing it you were watching it on YouTube, planning your next move or singing along to spoof videos about Luigi.

I’ll remember the day you visited Puddling Lane and how I have never seen you quite as excited as you were right there and then. Having become completely fascinated with The Great Fire of London during topic work at school you were beside yourself when we visited London and made a special detour just for you. As you stood there with a smile on your face a mile wide, you’d told us “I’m so excited I could have a disco party!” and we had all laughed as you’d danced right there on the spot, your arms in the air, your eyes closed, disco dancing on the streets of London in your own little bubble of happiness.

I’ll remember our holiday to Greece and how you’d swam every single day from morning ’til night, even when the sun went down and your lips went blue, your teeth would be chattering at the edge of the pool as you pleaded, “Just ten more minutes!”. I’ll remember the nights we’d sit down for dinner and you’d insist on pouring Lewis three glasses of diet coke purely because you liked pressing the button on the machine, telling him you’d have one with him the next day but knowing you never would. I’ll remember how happy you were to spend seven blissful days with your “big bro” and how, right there at six years old, he was your absolute hero and I’m sure you were his.

I’ll remember our travels in Italy and how you were in your element to eat pizza and chips each night, our fussy little eater who still gags at the sight of any food unless it’s beige. I’ll remember your excitement of pushing the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the feel of your arms around my neck watching the sun set in Tuscany, the way your eyes lit up around every corner in Florence. I’ll remember how every single adventure was all the more magical for sharing it with you.

I’ll remember the days we would walk for miles to get ice cream where there’d be twenty, thirty, forty flavours to choose from and you’d still choose vanilla, every time without fail. The days you’d find a stick down the fields and wield it like a light sabre, or hobble around like an old man, and we’d say “Harry! Be careful! You’ll take an eye out with that!” over and over again, but you’d never listen. I’ll remember your joy at kicking leaves in the Autumn, beaming with joy with a hot chocolate moustache as the girls squealed as they ran away from your over zealous attacks and we’d say “Harry! Calm down!”, but you never would.

I’ll remember your ritual every single night when you’d ask, “When you come to bed can I go in your bed” and how I’d humour you and say yes and you’d say “How many seconds?” and I’d tell you six hundred, knowing there had never been a night you’d not been asleep before you finished counting. I’ll remember your constant requests for “blackcurrant in my rocket cup?”, or how you’d come into the kitchen waving your Nintendo Switch remote simply saying, “Mario?”. I’ll remember how frustrating it felt to hear the same questions over and over, the same lines, the same rigmarole, and yet I know that one day, when you’re grown and have a family of your own, I’ll miss those moments more than I can ever put into words.

I’ll remember how much you loved your sisters and how, when you’d sit together and watch tv on the sofa, you’d rest your head on their shoulders or place your hand on their lap. I’ll remember how when I’d take photos you always said “Harry in the middle!” and beam with pride as the girls put their arms around your neck, sandwiched in-between your “girls”. I’ll remember the way that you and Meggy fought like wild cats, but loved with every bit of your hearts, the way you desperately sought Eva’s approval and the look of pride when she’d compliment you on your reading, help you with your writing or take you off to her room and let you play with her toys. I’ll remember the days I’d hear you telling others about Joseph and how you were named after your big brother who lives in the sky, and how some nights at bedtime you’d ask to see his photos and how afterwards you’d cuddle me so tight, sticking back together all the broken pieces of my heart.

Most of all Harry I’ll remember your smile, and your laughter, and the way your eyes literally shone with pure joy even during the most ordinary of days. I’ll remember how during a really difficult year of our lives, you made us happier than we ever thought possible, made us laugh until we cried, made us forget all of our worries and transported us to “Harry’s world”, right in the moments we needed it the most.

I’ll remember that six was the year you were the sweetest, kindest, clumsiest, most loving little wild child I have ever known and whilst I’m so sad that you will never again be six, I’m certain that seven is going to be so special for you.

Happy Birthday Harrison Joseph, our little piece of Heaven.

Love you all the stars in the sky,

Mummy

xxxx