My Heart's Desire...

I dreamed while I was heavily pregnant and worried, (well what else, we're talking Fhina here?!), of a small, blond cuddly toddler in arms...

You were about two years old, you were loving and sweet, full of slobbery kisses, cuddles and fun...

Practically the moment you were born, I held you in my arms, forgetting for a time about 24 hours of drug-free childbirth, (as recommended by the National Childbirth Trust!), and the midwife asked me if I wanted to know whether you were a boy or a girl.

And it really didn't matter to me then...

In a world full of hurt and lost children you had come to me just as in that dream, and you were fit and healthy, (apart from the fallen arch on your right foot), with those wonderful ten tiny fingers, and ten tiny toes. ...And I held you closely to my bosom, in the way that mothers have done since time began, when terrasaurs might have roamed the earth.

And then you pee'd all over me, in a Mannekin Pis style fountain rainbow-arch of widdle, soaking me, your exhausted dad and and the consultant, Mr Das, (who, do you remember, had hands the size of snow-shovels?!)

And we all laughed at your cheek and evident disdain for us, and I knew then you were the boy of my dreams, my heart's desire...

And I just need to recall those memories to mind, sometimes...

Do you remember when?

...Let me remind you.

...Those times when I am shouting so loud and so hoarsely like the harpy that I've turned into during your Teen Terrorist years, that I feel that our neighbours already have their finger on the speed dial to call Child Protection Services...