Your fifth trip around the sun hasn't been all smooth sailing. Your father thinks you've inherited my brains, my stubbornness and my affinity for the dramatics. You can suss things out faster than the rules can be written and you can put together a fierce argument to fight for whatever cause you're backing ("you should definitely buy me a blind bag", "my bed time is too early for someone this size", "it's not fair that you told me off for.....") and sometimes work up to quite an impressive tantrum. Although it's far less impressive when it's actually happening. When it's actually happening I often think I'd like to put you in the bin.
With your personality growing this hasn't been the easiest time for us. Maybe we're too similar? Sometimes I worry that this whole parenting thing is going to be a disaster because you'll hate me, and then you have one of your wild tantrums and I worry even more. But for all the rough few hours together we've had there are endless cuddles where you fall asleep and I can't move because I love you so much and I want to keep that tiny moment forever. We've had so much fun this year, adventure and excitement seem to travel close to you at all times. Your imagination is intense and bubbles over from playtime into the rest of your day. It's a bit like when you take your swimming cap off and all your curls burst out again, you can put a lid on it indefinitely but really it's wild and hard to tame. The special thing about you is that you help me feel free to explore, the way you see the world and all the people in it is fresh to me. As I've grown up I seem to have lost my imagination and my free spirit and we've clashed because you're free spirit stood up to my well organised, routine loving, list making nature and it's been rocky. But you've helped me see what I've lost within myself.
People think that the job of the parent is to teach their child about the world, but I think it's just as important that we learn from you. Your freshness and enthusiasm for life (except maybe in the mornings, you're not a morning person at all) is something that most of us adults lost a long time ago.
Last week was half term for you but Islas nursery was still up and running so we got to spend a few afternoons together and I can't remember the last time it was just the two of us. I miss those times, before Isla, before school, when we used to hang out together all day. But I think that's the reality of being a parent. I'll always miss times past because they never last long enough. It's not possible to spend too much time with you because it goes so fast. You're almost ready to travel around the sun for the sixth time but I swear you were only a baby a few weeks ago. I suppose five is only as big as we let it be, I remember the five year anniversary of dating your father and all my friends just thought that we'd been together for basically forever, but that was years ago now although it doesn't feel like it. It's scary really, at this rate you'll be eight or nine or ten before I've had time to blink.
But I'm running away with myself here, worrying about the future before I've let the present really happen. But you help me with that, you help me concentrate on little details and remember the days before the blur together into months and then years.
We're taking each day's as it comes, quite literally. You get pocket money now and can earn up to 50p a day, this seems to help both of us. It helps me slow down and really pay attention and it helps you slow down enough to get the necessities done (eating, reading, homework, sleep!) while still being a free spirit and if you get all your money you have enough to buy a blind bag on Saturday after your tap lessons.
And that's our life right now. A bit of a whirlwind really but what did I expect? Life to be calm with an almost five year old tearing about? Although today you're not really tearing anywhere, as I type this you're home from school in my bed because you're feeling poorly. Although I don't think you're sleeping, I suspect your watching Horrid Henry on Netflix which seems to be your new favourite. You know for a while I thought we were going to have to start calling you Dreadful Dylan but now I think we can stick with just Dylan. We're still figuring each other out I think but we're ok. And I love you.
To the moon and back
(And also around the sun)
Mummy.
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