Posey, you are…1 today.
You are…a good eater
The nursery staff tell me this every week, in a tone of slight awe. You eat everything. At speed. You like to do it yourself, which is why I try to avoid rice-based dishes. I have to hide in the kitchen when I’m making food, because if you see me, you’ll howl until you get some.
You are…a bit of a wag
You are not the clown your older sister is. It’s all about the slow chuckle with you, a joke or a game built over time. You don’t seek instant applause; instead I get a side eye and a grin. You’ll wait for me to get it.
You are…a flirt
The ladies on the tills in Tesco will never win your love, no matter how often they tickle your toes or compliment your crazy hair. You save all your dimples and gummy smiles for the butcher and the young guy behind the fish counter. I think you like his hat.
You watch. All the time. And copy, exactly. I shall have to stop swearing in front of you shortly, or else your first words will be unfit for publication.
You are…good at taking antibiotics.
You are the only child in the world who likes the banana-flavoured amoxicillin. You gobbled it down three times a day like a dream. You weirdo.
You are…mechanically minded
You figured out the post box game and the ball drop and the ball and hammer thingy very quickly. I must hide all my keys and babyproof every appliance.
You are…my last
And I do not want to lose this squishy little bear too soon.
Beyond your wildest comprehension, in different countries and across continents, forever and ever.