Happy birthday, Prince George. You’re two. Which is lovely for you. But, maybe not so much for your mum.
Your Majesty,
(Do I call you that? I am writing mum-to-mum so possibly I can just call you Kate? Katie? Luv?)
Today your little fella turns two.
It’s a milestone, a moment in time to be held, rejoiced, and looked back upon with wonder at how the heck you ever got through that year.
Turning two is a different type of feeling for us mums. Their first birthday is all about us. US.
We made it through a year. We survived. It’s about cracking open a nice bottle of champers and reflecting on the trials of feeding and sleeping, of first steps and first smiles.
But turning two is all about them.
THEM.
The relaxing glass of champers turns into a hastily sipped G&T as you attempt to put together the Thomas Wooden Railway Table. The solitary reflection on their first steps and first words is put aside until after the Woman’s Weekly choo-choo train cake is decorated.
Two is the edge of the precipice, in just the blink of an eye little George is no longer a baby, but a child.
A cute-as-a-button-rolly-as-a-pudding-frustrating-as-all-get-up child.
Your life is about to be transformed into one of complete and total extremes.
You will wonder just how you can be so head over heels in love with someone who totally sh*ts you off at times and drives you up the wall on a daily basis.