One year. That's is how long I had waited to... Do I dare to imagine it... sleep in? I must admit I was a little ahead of myself; imagining lots of excitement and cuddles from my beautiful son! 23 years old.
11th September. At 5:30am. A poohy nappy and grumpy son. I swayed. Last night’s wine raring it’s ugly head. Voices sang. Apparitions? Appreciated? Of course! But at 5:30 in the morning Satan literally bakes space cakes inside my skull!
Two coffees and two Weetabix later, I'd perked up enough to realize that I was being ignored. By my own son! I Danced. I played with his toys. I moved in for a kiss, only for an evil hand to appear in my face and push me out of his way. Bully. I gawped at him. Only for him to turn and smile angelically at my mum. I stuck my nose in the air and gave up. Who needs attention on their birthday anyway?
Me. That's who. I sulked as the kettle clicked for a third coffee. A creamy one this time. At least "me" is pleasant to "me". Never mind. Gibraltar Point soon for a fab day out.
I decided to try again, caffeine fuelled, I asked for a kiss. My two year old walked straight passed me, kissed his Nanna, then his granddad, before looking at me and stomping out of the house.
You probably guessed it. I set off with enough time to observe the beautiful view of Gibraltar... Road. The traffic held us up and we didn't make it...
It wasn't long before I was laughing though. By the time bedtime came around I had received the biggest cuddle possible... As he clung to me fighting being put to bed. Happy birthday to mummy!
Boneata Bell


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