You were getting more and more mobile all the time.
And we would go to get you after a nap,
only to find you had moved all the way up the crib,
or had turned around so your feet were sticking out.
It was like a little surprise every time . . .
where will he be this time?
Your eighteenth week saw Mummy's birthday.
She spent her special day with you.
Her favourite person.
Her little man.
You were too little to have gone shopping for a present.
But you still managed to give Mummy her very best birthday present.
You looked Mummy in the eye . . .
. . . you smiled . . .
. . . and then you blew a kiss.
Mummy's best present by a long way.
And we'd already been so spoilt by getting you in the first place.
Our happy, beautiful, clever little son.
We loved you more than we could have thought possible.
And more with every day.
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