Making my sweet boy laugh is easy.
We tell him the story of how, when the doctors lifted him out of mummy's tummy, he weed all over them. He giggles every time.
What we don't tell him is how I had gone into labor on a Wednesday, only to deliver him by emergency c-section on a SUNDAY night.
Crap care, an inability to assert myself and recent family traumas left me entirely unable to cope with the situation.
So he arrived, my blue little boy, battered and bruised, and in my eyes, perfect.


And now it's six years on and it's his birthday.
What have I learned?
Well, when we moved back to Oz, I paid (and still pay) a fortune for private health insurance. I am blessed because of my family, to have access to great medical care, but I am never taking any chances again.
Secondly, every rule my husband and I earnestly discussed pre children, that we would have when we had our kids, we have broken. For instance, my sanctimonious glares at women opening packages at supermarkets to feed whining children BEFORE they paid for them, have been replaced with glances of heartfelt sympathy and understanding.
Thirdly, my sweet boy is very much his own person. He is not the person I imagined when I was pregnant with him and I now know I don't want him to be.
Finally, parenthood is exhausting and wonderful. And my heart aches for the mummies who have empty arms. They may often feel they walk the road alone, but there are many of us out there who shadow them. We shaddowmamas love you and though we may not have the right words to say, please know we care.
And my darling boy, Mr J, thank you. For everything.
Happy Birthday!