For Harry on your 9th Birthday... -

Harry,

Today you are nine and I swear it was just two minutes ago since I sat here writing the very same on the day you were eight. There will never be a birthday when I don’t experience a whole rollercoaster of emotions, especially when it comes to you. As much as I always consider myself so lucky that our little bonus baby has blessed our lives for all these years, with every one of your birthdays comes the harsh realisation that the baby of our family is growing up. Harrison Joseph, our lucky number five.

You’d think that with you being the youngest, when it came to parenting I’d have it all planned out. You’d think by the time baby number five came along I would have known everything I needed to know about being a Mummy, that there was nothing more I could possible learn about how to raise you alongside your siblings. It turns out that over the last twelve months especially you have completely unravelled everything I thought I knew about being your Mummy and taught me so much more in its place. You are one in a million Harry and even if I sat here all day long I would never quite find the words to sum up just how special you are to all of us.

As I sat here thinking about the last twelve months my initial thought was that it has been a difficult one for you in so many ways. On reflection, it hasn’t been difficult for you in the slightest, it has only ever been difficult for me. Because the thing with you Harry is that you are blissfully unaware of the rollercoaster ride we’ve been on, in fact should I ask you right now about any one of the hurdles we’ve faced this year, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t remember a single one of them. You have this incredible ability to see only the good in life, to remember only the happy times, to think about the things that make you feel good and to hell with the rest. You are happy from the moment you wake up until the minute your head touches the pillow and honestly Harry, I can’t think of any better way to be. I would give anything to be more like you, I think we all would.

Although the list of your positive traits is endless, the thing which will always stand out to me the most about you Harry is just how loving you are. Your teachers recognise it in school, your sibling recognise it at home, and your Daddy and I recognise it every single day in the way that even now, at nine years old, we are still your whole world. There is never a day that goes by when you haven’t showered us with cuddles (even if they result in the odd head butt), or smothered us with kisses (even if the girls say they’re too slimy!), or a night you don’t ask for me to snuggle in your bed and play the “Forky game”, or you sneak into mine and tell me, “I just fall asleep better when I’m next to you.” With every year that passes I wonder if there will come a time my little Mama’s boy starts to outwardly show that love a little less, and yet here we all are,still basking in the warmth of your love and I hope that never changes.

The truth is, in your world, eight has been the most wonderful year and throughout every single one of our adventures and every single mundane moment at home, you have sought out the magic and would label each and every day as your favourite. You are equally happy on an exotic holiday basking in a luxury resort as you are at the decrepit playground down the road from our house, equally satisfied on an adventurous day out as you are sitting in your room and building LEGO. And I love that about you Harry, that there are no high expectations, no boredom, no demands, and although you are so privileged that your life takes you on all of these adventures, if it all stopped tomorrow you wouldn’t bat an eyelid. Perhaps you wouldn’t even notice.

I have loved every minute of you being eight Harry, the year you fell in love with your new teacher and your classmates, when your friendships went from strength to strength and you jumped at the chance to go on playdates. The year you’d wake up at 5am because you were so excited about your new Nintendo headset and all we’d hear from your room was “Edward!! EDWARD!!” on repeat until we’d have to shout to switch it off and go back to sleep. The year you would come home from school, eat an entire tube of ready salted Pringles and when I’d ask you about your day you’d say, “Well I literally can’t even remember!”.

Eight was the year you went skinny dipping in Greece and sang, “I feel so free!” as you swam around the pool, the year you ate Margarita pizza every single night without fail followed by a Haribo push-up which was a big step up from a plain Vanilla. Eight was the year we drove all the way down to France in the “Vengabus” and you sang the song and bopped your head the whole journey even when you knew it was really annoying your sisters. The year we stayed in the Vendee in a 40 degree heatwave and you still wanted to cuddle me all night despite it being so hot we had to sleep with our legs hanging out of the window. The year we explored Chateaus and beautiful beaches, visited the best theme parks and adventure courses and you would still always ask, “What time will we be able to go back to the pool?”.

Eight was the year we went to Turkey as a family of six and despite the buffet offering the biggest choice we’ve ever seen, you had hot dog and chips every single day for a week. The year you would go to the bar ten times a day and return with six orange Fantas, two for you and four for Lewis; the year you were completely glued to his side and Lewis never once complained because secretly he loved it. Eight was the year we did parasailing and you sat in between me and Lew and recited “This is just a dream!” on repeat until we made it down to the boat. The year you declared Turkey your favourite holiday ever on the flight home home, decked head to toe in fake designer fashion and knock off football kits.

Eight was the year we spent the Summer in Italy where you ate Mcdonalds every day in Milan and Venchi’s ice cream in Verona. The year you captained a boat on Lake Garda and all you could hear was the sound of your laughter, whooping with delight as you zig zagged in and out of the waves whilst the rest of us clung on for dear life. The year you’d fall asleep on a sun lounger wrapped in a towel at the end of a long day and I’d get a lump in my throat as I realised you were still so very little after all. Eight was the year you were finally tall enough to ride your very first loop the loop at Garda land and you threw your arms in the air and shouted “I LOVE IT!!” as you begged us to ride it over and over – which we did.

Eight was the year we returned to Finland and you amazed us all by eating more than just white bread and fries, the year you foraged for berries in Central Park but all you really cared about was finding a big stick and climbing to the top of a big rock. The year you swam outdoors at sunset after a sauna, when your lips went blue and you almost convulsed in the cold but you were adamant you were fine just to have five minutes longer.

Eight was the year you met the real Father Christmas in Lapland and I still think your favourite part was playing the toilet roll game on the flight on the way there. The year we’d see an absolute maniac dragging their sledge up to the very highest slope and sleighing down backwards whilst shouting “WAHOO!” at the top of their voice before realising that said maniac was you. The year you were fearless and brave and a complete liability, the year I finally understood why my greys were multiplying by the day.

Eight was the year you overcame your nervousness of animals in Donegal, walking an alpaca named Tommy across the rolling Irish hills, stroking him and even hugging him without a moments hesitation. The year you’d always insist you went first on the high ropes and the zip lines, impatient if anyone didn’t go as fast as you, shouting “Come on girls! Just follow me!” as you steamed ahead. Eight was the year when you had more energy than all six of us put together, when you’d literally tell us “I’m just a great big ball of energy!” and nobody disagreed!

Eight was the year you fell in love with skiing, more than you’ve ever loved anything in your whole life. The year we nicknamed you Eddie the Eagle as you literally launched yourself down piste, wandering off the path, teetering on cliff edges and giving us all a heart attack in the process. The year you lived and breathed skiing for seven sun filled days, begging Lewis and Daddy to take you down the red runs where we’d find you at the bottom, Lewis in stitches, telling us “Harry is actually crazy!!”. Eight was the year you found something which you naturally excelled at and your confidence soared, the year I genuinely thought you might cry on the flight home as I promised you we would do it all over again when you were nine.

And eight was the year we flew to Thailand, for the biggest adventure we have ever shared together, and today on your ninth birthday you woke up in a tree house in the middle of the Khao Sok jungle on a birthday you will always remember. We have spent the day sailing across Cheow Lan lake, exploring ancient caves, kayaking by the lake house, eating grilled fish and fresh pineapple and basking in the sunshine together. As you blew out your candles this evening, in a bamboo hut in the middle of a rain storm, as you made your wish I made one too. I wished that you won’t ever change, even when the pressure to conform feels too much, and that you will always remain the happiest, wildest, most loving little whirlwind we could ever hope for.

Happy 9th birthday Harrison Joseph, our little piece of heaven. Here’s to another year of beige food, vanilla ice cream and screaming the house down on your headset.