My first born baby turned three today. I’m sitting here feeling so full … full of cake most certainly, but my heart feels even fuller than that.
All week I’d been stressing. About work, about the fact I hadn’t bought all his present yet, attempting to make cupcakes to take to kindy before realising I had no eggs, that I never seem to have enough time. The critical voice was kicking into over drive. Bad mum, bad friend, bad worker. Tsk, Tsk!
But as I sit here, all that seems so meaningless. My boy got his presents, the cupcakes got made, my work got done, we spent Saturday night making him a rocket cake. The lead up wasn’t perfect, things had to be cast aside, stripped back until only the important parts remained. Continue reading