Holding on to the present

On the bus the other day I gazed at him. I stared at him in the same way I used to when he was a newborn, trying to imprint on my brain this beautiful image before me. I don’t do this often, but when I do I’m reminded how challenging change is for me as a mother. Matty is growing up so fast. Sometimes I feel it’s too fast. And it unsettles me that there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t have a three year old for more than a year. That’s my ration. I love how he looks at me. He trusts me completely. He adores me. He admires me. He crosses his legs like I do. Sometimes I catch him tucking his hair behind his ear in the same way I do. And yet I do know that one day he will want to pull away from me. And I’ll have to let him. Instead of telling him how much I love him while holding him close, I’ll have to quietly whisper this under my breath. He won’t want me to kiss him goodbye as he trots off to school. I won’t be able to smother him in sun cream in the summer. I won’t be able to force him to wear a bicycle helmet when he gets on his bike. I won’t be able to bribe him into eating his vegetables by promising him a treat. I’ll have to trust him to make wise choices in life. All I can do now is trust myself that I can raise him to be a trustworthy boy. He is, like all children, a gift to be cherished. And for now there is nothing more I can do than enjoy every single day I have with him, to live in the present with my present, and to have confidence in my mothering skills, to take comfort from the fact that so far he is utter perfection in my eyes, a source of endless joy and pride, and a treasure in the truest sense.

The power of the post

There is something magical and special about opening your letter box to find a big brown package inside. Even as an adult I get all excited opening a parcel. Today my mother sent Matthew three handsome button down shirts. One is pistachio green and chocolate brown check. One is a beautiful grey shade of lavender. And the third one is a rich aubergine colour. As a mother I have no problem dressing my son in manly shades of purple. Love is an abstract noun. That means that you can’t see it. But it just popped right out of that cardboard box the moment I ripped it open. I could feel the love. It was in the air. From the rainbow of shirts on display my mother selected the precise colours she knows I like. And that touched me deeply.

Last week we received six bags of Percy Pigs sweets from my friend Cybill in London. Matty was so excited. His excitement was contagious and I grabbed my camera and took a grand total of 167 photographs of him opening the envelope, ripping open the sweets, examining these pig shaped treats and then enthusiastically tasting them. I put the camera down only once when he stuffed four Percy Pigs in his mouth and started gagging. I think it’s wonderful how you can take something invisible and intangible and wrap it up and send it abroad. You can buy a thoughtful gift, one that will really mean something to someone, one that will make them think of you every time they wear it or eat it or look at it or hear it, and in doing so you are in fact mailing them some love overseas in a big brown package.