For Meggy on your 8th Birthday

Meggy,

Today you are eight and although every year I sit here and lament how fast the time has gone for your siblings, with you it never seems to feel that way. In so many ways it feels as though you have been here forever and I’m not sure I can even remember a life without you in it. From the day you were born you have made your presence known and now, eight years on, you are still the biggest smile on every photo, the loudest voice from the garden, the mastermind behind every game (and every plan!), and the very centre of our family, no doubt about it. You are completely adored by all of us Meggy, today and always.

It’s funny because whilst the rest of us have struggled this year, missing our daily routine and the people we love, I can honestly say you have never been happier, safely cocooned in the comfort of our home, isolating with your brothers and sister, the people you love the most in all the world. You love nothing more than snuggling up beside us, slotting your little hand in ours or resting your head on our shoulders, and this year you’ve had all of that love and affection in abundance. Without school and holidays, hobbies and clubs, in lots of ways our days should have been incredibly ordinary and yet thanks to you, and your enthusiasm to embrace even the smallest things in life, you have made them extraordinary.

And I think that’s the thing I will remember the most about the year you were seven, the fact that whether you were hunting for snails in the garden in lockdown, fashioning little houses from empty grape containers with leaves for beds and bottle tops for food, or whether you were patiently waiting for your tadpoles to grow (and holding a very solemn funeral service when they didn’t), you made every single day that little bit more special. Whether you were painting abstract artwork with life affirming mottos in bold rainbow colours, “Be kind!”, “Seize the day!”, “Hello beautiful!”, or whether you were carefully making friendship bracelets to hand out to your very best friends at school, you were so content and so happy at every single step.

I’ll remember seven as the year how you sung and danced your way through the entirety of lockdown, performing one dance routine after another, singing songs you’d learned from YouTube, strumming along on your ukulele, and writing songs of your own which brought tears to our eyes. During the hardest days of lockdown, when I personally found life so incredibly overwhelming, those moments never failed to put a smile on my face, or on Nanna and Grandads as you performed for them at the end of the drive, and I don’t think you’ll ever know just how much we needed that from you during those times.

I’ll remember the look on your face during our travels over the Summer, how you literally looked fit to burst with happiness when you saw the pool in Crete, dive bombing your way in with the loudest of Tarzan cries. I’ll remember the way your eyes sparkled every time that you laughed as you tipped Lewis off his Lilo, or glowed with delight every mealtime when you saw the dessert selection; the way you grew in confidence just as much as in stature, dragging Eva along to kids club each day with your T-Shirt tied up in a little knot and your head held high. I’ll remember how brave you were when you took off your armbands for the first time, how excited you were to lead the way on every new adventure, how you were never happier than with the sun on your face and the sand beneath your feet.

I’ll remember how you completely fell in love with Italy in August, eating your body weight in pizza and gelato, from Pisa, to Florence, to Siena. How you had deemed the day you and Eva got a hair braid the “best day of your life ever!”, and admired yourself in every mirror, and every shop window, the entire two weeks until it was removed. I’ll remember the way you danced in your seat at mealtimes, the times you’d get silly and say “Ciao!” in your funniest voice and giggle uncontrollably, the nights I’d bathe your mosquito bites, knowing every single one represented an evening of fun.

I’ll remember seven as the year you spent hours teaching Oscar to high five, the memory of you and Eva knelt together on the rug in the back room, a mountain of dog treats to coax his little paw into yours, and your absolute amazement when he finally high fived you. I’ll remember how you’d whistle for him at the top of the stairs each night and whoop with delight when he hopped into your bed where you’d use him as a pillow until he finally got fed up. I’ll remember how you were desperate for a “Chich-a-wawa” but would whisper it when Oscar wasn’t listening so as not to hurt his feelings, but then tell me that of all the dogs we could ever have, Oscar would always be your favourite.

I’ll remember seven as the year you fell completely in love with Zac, your very first boyfriend and your very best friend, and how you told me about the wedding ceremony you’d had at school and how afterwards he had kissed you, right on the forehead. I’ll remember you agonising over which Valentine’s Day card to choose, how I’d been suffocating stood there in my mask whilst you insisted it needed to be perfect, finally choosing one which read “To the one I love”. And I’ll remember your how you had blushed almost purple when he delivered your card and present later that day and how, even now, you still sleep with that card by your bed every single night like your most prized possession.

I’ll remember seven as the year you stayed up until 1am on New Years Eve, how you had drank Shloer from a wine glass and told us all that you were drunk. The way you’d staggered around the playroom crashing into the walls, rolling around on the floor shouting that you felt crazy, and how you’d hammed it up every time that we’d laughed, just thriving on the attention.

I’ll remember the nights you begged me to lie with you at bedtime, the two of us squished into your bottom bunk with all of your stuffed toys and Oscar, and how you’d stroke my hair and snuggle me up, taking care of me just as much as I was taking care of you. I’ll remember those conversations about tortoises and parrots, about stories from schools or magical tales from fictional books, and how as I kissed you goodnight you’d tell me, “You’re the best Mama in the whole world” and I swear, I have never felt so loved.

I’ll remember seven as the year when your siblings meant more to you than anything else in the world, the way you’d beg me to let you sleep in Eva’s bed so the two of you could snuggle all night, or the way you’d patch up Harry’s knees and kiss away his tears; how you would always be the first at the door to greet Lewis from his Dads, and the last to be waving at the door as he left. I’ll remember how you wrote Joseph’s name on every beach we ever visited, lit a candle in every church we passed, and said his name every single day without fail.

I’ll remember your love of drama and how every time you over-reacted we’d joke that the drama classes were paying off. Or how if we said something you disagreed with, or laughed at a joke at your expense, you’d look at us completely straight faced and say, ‘Oh my gosh! How rude!”. I’ll remember how you felt things so much deeper than other children, be that happiness or sadness, anger or disappointment, and how we could go from one extreme emotion to another at the drop of a hat.

I’ll remember seven as the year you were the sassiest, cleverest, kindest little girl with perfect comic timing and brutal honesty. You are wise beyond your years, generous with your affections, and gosh you are beautiful, breathtakingly so. As much as you weren’t the first one to make me a Mummy, you were the one who has taught me the most – to be patient, to forgive, to love unconditionally, to laugh a little louder, to look for the magic in every single day, and to simply be more Meggy. And I’m trying very hard to do just that.

Happy 8th Birthday Megan Alicia, I can’t wait to see what eight has in store for you.

Love you all the stars in the sky,

Mummy

xxxx