one, two, three, is the magic number

Dearest Wil

My funny, happy, joyous little soul.

It's hard to believe you are already three, but harder still to imagine all those years I lived before you came along. What did I used to think about in those moments when I was lost in thought and something funny made me smile, before I was thinking about something you said or did this morning?

The decision to have a second child was a difficult one for me, full of angst and worry, fear and confusion. The absolute opposite to the pure and compelling drive I had felt for so many years before Amy came along. So it always strikes me as typically perverse of the universe to grant me the privilege of a second chance at parenting and thrust me into a relationship which, while not without its hardships, never feels the slightest bit complicated.

Writing birthday posts for your children is always hard - and generally pretty boring for readers I am sure - but perhaps one day you'll come here looking for answers Wil, and whatever the future holds in store for us I want you to know that here and now I feel grateful in a hundred ways for what you have bought to my life. Grateful to know you, grateful for the contours you have created in me.

A profound appreciation for the here and now, the obvious, the simple, the pure uncomplicated joy that is the way you see the world. You've made me a better parent, given me confidence, made me more peaceful and patient, at least some of the time. You never fail to make me smile and generally make redundant my tendency to over think everything. As a little boy you have made me appreciate ever so much more what men are all about.

I love that when you are feeling unhappy an olive can remedy pretty much any ill.

I love that the first thing you ask for in the morning (without fail) is your packet lightening mcqueen.

I love that after pretty much anything anyone says you feel the need to add me too!

I love the way you line your cars up and when you say you can't come to the table yet because you are parking.

I love the way you say YAY! whenever I explain to you what we're doing next.

I love the way you tell everyone on the tram exactly what's going on in your head, point out all the landmarks and then smile and look away and then look back. You're just reeling them in and they are loving it!

I love that you have milo and wheatbix for breakfast every single morning when I can't keep track from hour to hour of what your sister says she utterly detests and what she now adores.

I love that you think your sister is the coolest person on the planet and when she's not around you walk around saying where my sister? where my sister gone?

I love that you love everyone and yet still enjoy your own company.

I love that you are so like your dad and yet not at all - you are your own man.

I love the way you demand extra cuddles at bed time but tell me to leave if I look like settling in.

I love that even though change and spontaneity are not really your thing, you go with it anyway.

I love that you told the other mums waiting around at school pick up time today that you are one two three! And now you are a mechanic but you don't have an office and offices are for grown ups. And that you think engines are beautiful.

The love list is endless. The longer I sit here the more things I can think up that make me smile. I don't know what your magic is, but I've seen you work it on other people as well as me, and no one (aside from that really crabby lady in the shoe shop today) seems to escape your spell. To me you are sunshine.

Happy birthday sweet thing.