A letter to my son on his 10th birthday
Viewpoint Amie Richardson
To my darling boy, Welcome to the double digits club. Because this is a milestone birthday – 10 is the new 18 in the life of a child, according to one child psychologist – I wanted to share what I’ve learnt from you in your first decade.
Strength and resilience. When your dad died, I worried most about you. You and your dad were kindred spirits – sharing the same easygoing personality, the same selfassurance, the same celebration of others. I watched you for signs that you were broken but the tears were rare, always when you were tired. Instead, you led your 3-year-old brother to my side whenever I was feeling sad (‘‘quick Jasper, Mummy needs us’’) and comforted me. Three and a half years down the track, and your support has never dwindled. You’re my rock, a staunch boulder standing tall to my shoulder, that I’ve leaned on far too much.
Perseverance. You were born in a dramatic storm more suited to your brother’s personality than yours. You were stuck and stopped breathing. They rushed me into surgery and put me under general anaesthetic and pulled you back up the birth canal and out via C-section. When I woke up, you were there – a perfectly formed baby giant, who my midwife said was lucky. You’ve persevered through learning every new skill, but always on your own terms. (You crawled backwards for three months before you finally went forwards.)
Empathy and tolerance. Your little brother was luckier than most when he got you. You listen to his complaints, celebrate his successes. You believe in yourself. You believe in the goodness of others. I believe in you, too.
Flexibility and trust. You’ve welcomed your new stepdad and sister with love and warmth, and they’ve loved you back. When you were born, I never thought we would be here 10 years later. It is not the life I expected for us, but it is a life you’ve accepted as a gift and faced head-on, trusting in the things you know and seeing the opportunity in the things you don’t.
You’ve taught me to dream big. I asked you today what it means to be getting older and whether you think you’ll still love the same things – namely dinosaurs – when you’re an adult. You said you hoped so, because often people forgot their dreams when they grew up. I hope you never forget yours. And speaking of dinosaurs, you’ve taught me everything I now know about dinosaurs, because before I met you I only knew the names of three. Thank you for sharing your passion and knowledge with me.
But most of all you’ve taught me about love. How fierce it is, how it accepts all the quirks and the mistakes and grumpiness that come from being human. You love me with no conditions. I don’t know how you’ve learnt to do that.
Love, your mama.