The boy

Dear Joseph,

Well I'm not quite sure how we got here, but here we are and you are 7. Seven! For the love of  God - that's like proper big boy and not at all like a baby any more at all.

This past year has probably seen you grow more and transform more in front of my eyes than any other. Your face has changed - thinned out, lost the babyish look and adopted the look of who I can see you are going to be as you get older. Your teeth started to fall out - those wee precious baby pearls I scanned your mouth for on an almost daily basis when you were teeny and all gummy smiled. I love the gappy toothed smile you give me now, but don't go wobbling the rest of them all too much. I'm not ready for the tooth fairy to stop visiting just yet.

This year has also been the year of football - forget Bob the Builder and Star Wars toys and Imaginext - it's all about Liverpool FC and as many "interesting" facts as you can remember. I find it comforting that occasionally I see your eye stray to Cbeebies when Cara is watching and Postman Pat is making his rounds. You're wee yet. Don't forget it.

You've started to assert your independence more - choosing your own clothes, dressing yourself, asking for football kits and goalie gloves. You've started to help out around the house, putting out your own breakfast, setting the table, tidying away your washing. Now if only we could get your daddy to do the same, we would be flying.

Joseph, you still make me laugh - every day. You infuriate the hell out of me at times, but you are still the affectionate funny wee boy you always have been.

I love you very, very much funny boy. You are and always will be the light of my life.

Lots of love,

Mammy

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