When the memory of a photo came up on my Facebook timeline of Harry at six months old last week I really did have to take a moment to pause and think. A year couldn’t possibly have passed.. could it? It’s true what they say that you’ll blink and they’re 30 and at the rate we’re going I won’t have had a full night’s sleep before I’m planning 21st birthdays. However, enough of the wistful nostalgia; it’s time for some brutal honesty.
From the moment Harry was born everyone said it would get easier. Oh how I look back and chuckle at nieve little old me thinking that life was so hard to have Harry sitting pretty in his pram whilst I ate my lunch with my mother in Dundrum and passer bys cooed and smiled at my adorable (unable to wriggle free or move) bundle of joy. Alas, the sweetened smiles are now substituted by harderned stares whilst I grapple with a one and a half year old who is throwing everything but the table itself accross the floor. But it’s not just in restaurants that I endure this carry on. Oh no. It’s at home too. The hoover is used so often I now seldom put it away. The beautiful (very expensive) ornamental vase I so proudly purchased last year now resides in my mothers downstairs toilet. I’ve had Jo Malone candles thrown and smashed before my very eyes. And we won’t even discuss my White Company bedspread. I often used to complain that I couldn’t get a photo of Harry because he wasn’t interactive enough with the camera. Now I’m lucky if he will sit still for long enough for me to get one at all. My car is Harry’s personal rubbish site and my once immaculate Mulberry has dedicated itself to a life of crushed crackers and spare nappies.
But in-between the superficial are the delights. The stolen kiss before bedtime. The early morning cuddles on the sofa. The first few tentative steps taken accross the living room. These are the times I pause and remember where I am, will time to stop and leave us in peace for a moment. Because really, right now, there is no place I’d rather be. (Nyawww)