To my darling, darling girl.
Today you are 4.
Four whole years old and I have never loved you more.
You have been in my life and my heart forever it seems but I know I lived a life before you. Without you.
An unrecognisable life, one with improptu beers and meals and holidays and disposable income and late nights and lie ins.
But all of those days led me to here. To my life as your Muma. I wouldn’t change a thing.
I’m sorry that you are (again) getting quite a somber and earnest sort of birthday blog- but I have to write from the heart and this is what’s written on it at the moment.
You are my baby and I love you.
With every fibre of my being I love you.
You and your sister and your Daddy mean everything to me and I would walk across hot coals to keep you safe and happy.
I want to write a carefree and funny post about all the wonderful things you do. All the reasons I adore you and I’d chuck in a couple of the ways you wind me up but that will have to wait. I need you to know this;
On your birthday we are in the midst of a humanitarian crisis. There are mummy’s and daddy’s just like yours who don’t know what to do or where to turn to keep their families together.
After they put their babies to bed each night they plan and they whisper and they panic and they argue about which is the least risky risk to take.
How can they protect their children and allow them the childhood and the lives they dreamed of for them.
Do they stay, Do they go- where will they be least marginalised and where do they have the best chance of rebuilding their lives.
For your birthday we have bought you lots of lovely things:
A nurses outfit and a book about the body because you always talk about being a doctor when you grow up.
A ‘wibbly’ dolly and her own potty because you want a baby like your baby cousin that you adore
Some wipable books to get you ready for school because you simply can’t wait to be a big girl.
You have been given a train set and a cake making box and lots of other amazing treats. You are a very lucky girl.
But one very special thing I want to give you is the knowledge that the country you live in is a kind one, it cares about its neighbours and it wants to help. There are groups and individuals all over the country whose hearts are breaking just like mine to see so many people displaced and afraid and misunderstood.
I want you to know how important it is to speak out and try to make a difference even if it feels as though you are standing alone. It might be scary but it would be a far scarier world if people didn’t and you’ll never be alone because I’ve got your back. Always.
I want you to know that any tiny thing you do to help someone else is important and valued and precious.
I want you to know how very, very lucky you are to have a home and food and heat and light and power and an education.
But most of all I want to have the luxury of not knowing any of this. To have the opportunity to play dress up and lego and colouring and trains and cooking without knowing how hard and difficult the world can be and how high a price baby’s just like you are paying.
I want you to be my baby awhile longer. Safe, Loved and blissfully unaware.
Happy Birthday my darling, darling girl.
I will love you until the seas run dry.
And that will never happen.
If you would like to join the effort to support the refuges there are lots of was to help- there are groups sending essentials to Calais the Wirral group is here– search on line for your local one.