A note to my newly born son

Dear little one – you might have noticed a change of surroundings and are asking yourself, what the hell happened the other night?

Well, you’ve been born.

Don’t panic. We’ve all been through it. The experience will fade and you’ll remember it only in dreams that leave you feeling strangely wistful in late middle-age. And no, I’m afraid there’s no way back.

I know, it is very light and very loud, and not always as warm as the 40C you’ve been used to, but we will keep you wrapped up in sleep-suits that have ears and humorous cartoons on them. Yes, a tailored jacket would look more stylish but I couldn’t find one in your size. And don’t worry about the masks – we’re not going to burgle you. It’s the preferred dress code on Planet Earth at the moment.

I was there for the whole thing – and before you ask, I’m fine. There was a bad moment when I ran out of snacks but other than that, it was a breeze. I chose not to cut the cord. I hope you don’t mind. I just thought giving a sharp pair of scissors to an over-tired man who had been playing with the gas and air all day was a risk we didn’t need to take.

I did take lots of photos and videos, though. When I was born only my mum and dad knew it was happening – and our dog Scamp (who was no use at all as a birthing partner). And no-one had a camera. You have over a dozen WhatsApp groups being updated with your progress. Your arrival was greeted by more than two hundred messages of love. You have Facebook and Instagram likes, and already more people know of you than I have physically met.

Our midwives, Cecile and Izzy, were wonderful. And even more so was your mother: pushing and pausing, holding and catching, doing everything right for you – as she will for the rest of her life. I’m afraid I did take a few shots of your actual arrival. I know, where is the dignity in that? But I thought in years to come as you grapple with existential questions you might want to see that most amazing moment when you left the warmth of your prenatal home and joined us.

Because suddenly, there you were, Day One, looking a little outraged (but who could blame you) as you were pulled free, wrapped in towels and given to your mother for the first of a centillion kisses. A baby. Already a brother, a cousin, a nephew, a grandson and even an uncle. And our beautiful boy. Perfect in every conceivable way.

Welcome. I am so unbelievably pleased to meet you. x

P.S. your mother has made it clear that the close-up slo-mo video of you actually being born will not be shared with any group, family or otherwise.

Categories: Don't do the Maths!

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