Five years ago today, you were born- two hours before my first Mother’s Day. You broke my vagina and my breasts still wonder why they now live two feet lower than they used to. It is the best thing that has ever happened to me.
I often look at you and am struck at what an amazing person you are growing into. How could someone who is so young already seem to know more than I do? Then I see you pick your nose again for the tenth time in an hour and I realize we still have a lot of work to do.
Technically, I became a parent the day you were born, but those first few months all I had to do was keep you alive. Peanuts. The hard part came after when I realized that, in addition to figuring out what “baby-led weaning” is, Googling “photos of weird baby rashes” multiple times and agonising over whether giving you milk at 11 months 29 days rather than 12 months would forever compromise your immune system, I also have to “parent” you to become a good human. I’m pretty sure that despite my lack of parenting skills, you will not become a sociopathic killer- that just seems to be setting the bar a little low. I’d like to aim higher.