At the end of June when we hung up your school uniform and kicked your little black shoes into the corner of the cupboard, I thought the summer would last forever. I saw the unstructured days stretch ahead of us as an unknown quantity and felt just as daunted by them as you were excited.
And then we woke up on day one, and it was 7.30am. And I didn’t have to pack your lunchbox, or chivvy you into your uniform, or make either of us look presentable until we were good and ready for our day, and we had nowhere...
In a few days we will blow out your candles, open your presents and sing happy birthday at the tops of our voices. We will have a party and throw streamers and play games and eat far too much cake and celebrate all that you are.
But what you won’t know is that as I sing “Happy birthday to you”, I will have a lump in my throat and an ache in my heart. Because never again will you be three.
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