Dear Baby Cameron,
Today, you are a six. Six is very big, you know. You told me so yourself, the other day. Mama remembers being six, herself. Oh how the time has flown.
There are a few things you should know, Baby Cameron. I made a promise to myself, one night, when you were very sick, that I’d write you a letter each year, so that I will be able to show you what you did, remind you of your growth, and laugh with you over the funny things that have come out of your mouth and head over the years.
To me, in some ways, you’re still Baby Cameron – cute and pudgy in all the right places, and inquisitive as both your mother and father combined. Something you’ve inherited from both of us is your ability to question everything. My mom would say this is karma. When you were four, I remember being tired a lot – this is because every sentence that came out of your mouth was a question. Mama, why is the horse? Mama, why do we have two feet? Mama, how do they put the chocolate in the ice cream?
Let me tell you, Baby Cameron, I’m glad I went to mommy school so that I could answer all those questions 😛
You see, you’ve been through much in your six little years. Nothing about them has been little.
It’s strange, for me, in a way…your life has been constant parallels. Just as I was starting to grow up as a person, I got my own little person to grow. Shortly after you were born, my dad went to heaven. Two weeks before you turned five, my mommy joined him. I regret none of these parallels, because they have given me you. I celebrate each of them, because they are the markers of your life – your beautiful, precious life.
On my hospital discharge form, after you were born, they listed your arrival as a “spontaneous natural delivery”. I found that hilarious – how on earth could something that had been gestating for nine months be a spontaneous arrival? We pretty much knew you were coming from about four months in. Oh, about that, I just thought I was getting really fat. So did everyone else. Sorry. You were clearly demonstrating your naturally polite and discreet nature long before you were born. The reason why they called it spontaneous was because you took a very short time to arrive. We’d barely settled down into the process before you popped out.
When you were born, you didn’t cry. That was frightening for your dad and I and we both had a good look to see you were alright. You were. You were better than alright. You were absolutely perfect.
Your first word was “Mda”. Whether that was a reference to a poet of the same name, or you trying to call Mom and Dad at the same time, we’ll never quite know. But you’d call that name with a smile on your face, beaming as you beckoned.
We’ve had some hair-raising moments in these six years. When you were nine months old, you got electrocuted at daycare. Trust me, sweetheart, I never knew I could fly before. I flew straight to you. We spent a night in hospital and I had to sleep in the cot with you, mostly because it was the only other flat surface on which to lie. Thank goodness Mama is short. You have a little scar on the lefthand side of your mouth that will always remind me of that phonecall, that moment and that gutwrenching flight from my work to your daycare. Don’t worry, we changed daycare shortly thereafter.
Shortly after that, you got pneumonia – first in one lung, then the other lung, and then both lungs. I’m convinced that those six weeks aged me approximately forty-five years. But, there was some beauty in it. In the thick and at the worst of it, we had been up most of the night and I was holding you and rocking you in the very same rocking chair I had as a little girl. You were battling to sleep, poor sick love, and I was doing my best to get you to sleep. I’d tried every trick in the book, every possible medicine and every lullabye. Just as I was launching into a 3am rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, your hand shot up, covered my mouth, I shut up and you smiled. You fell promptly asleep and I realized how absolutely awful my singing voice was. I laugh about that moment almost every day.
When you were eleven months old, Daddy was just about to leave for work, when you stood before him and walked into his arms. I have a photo of your proud face, when you realized you’d done something magnificent. I went to work and sang your praises all day long.
The very first time you called me mama, was on a Tuesday evening and I had just walked to the kitchen to get something. You yelled Mama so loudly I wasn’t sure where it came from first. I fully believe that my heart came home the moment I heard that word. It is the most precious name to me.
When you were eighteen months old, Mommy and Daddy made a choice that we would do our parenting separately. There’s a book I read to you often now about that exact type of parenting and you love it. You see your story in it, you understand it and you know that Mom and Dad love you, above and beyond everything else. You know and can talk about the fact that it was a choice that had to be made, for everyone to be happy. We’re lucky, we are. We’re lucky that we’re all three still able to be a family, albeit the unconventional one. We have a relationship that flows with the tides, and at the centre of it, is your soft heart. You are your father’s pride, and your mama’s greatest joy. Nothing in the world can change that and you know that to be true, all the way through.
We’ve had to face some absolute horror in our lives, but we’ve faced it, head on and courageously. Your tenacity and bravery in this situation has astounded me. It’s been what’s got me through everything. You have preserved your heart with your courage, and I am forever grateful for your unwavering belief that love can guide us through anything.
Every night, you say your prayers. It’s not something I started, you asked if you could do it. And those prayers are always filled with gratitude. You’re thankful for all that you have in your life, and always, always you say thank you for me. Baby Cameron, for you to be thankful for me is an absolute honour. It is me who is every day, filled with gratitude for you.
You’ve spouted some true pearls of wisdom over the years. One of my favourites is:
“Mom, it doesn’t matter what we have for dinner, it’s how we eat it”.
You’re full of life truisms and interesting perspectives, and that retinue of exploratory, lateral thinking has grown over the years. I look to you for wisdom very much. It’s amazing really, that you have the ability to sum up a situation or choice in a way that no adult I know can. Thank you for that.
It amazes me that you can make choices. It’s something I know I battle with, and I make a point of always giving you options to choose where possible, in life. It’s one of those things that I feel you must be empowered to learn how to do. So, for you, it’s the choice between dinners, the choice between shoes or the choice of what we should do on a sunny day. It’s led me to realise that you can consider the options given to you, and decide your own destiny. That may seem a small thing now, but one day soon, it’s going to be a gigantic power in your life. Choose well, choose wisely and keep choosing, my Cam. You have more power within you than Superman. Remember that as you grow up, please.
Your fascination with and dexterity towards technology does not, however, surprise me. One of your favourite toys as a baby was in fact a keyboard. When you were sitting in your Bumbo seat, I could put you beside me as I worked and you would “work” too. And you’d smile as you bashed those keys, and I’d grin at you while we babbled to each other and typed. At six, you know how to work my phone better than I do, I think. Although, let’s remember who programmed the television into German and let’s also remember how Mama had to call a technician over to get them to fix it. Do steer clear of the buttons you don’t know about on the remote, my sweet.
At five, you finally fell in love with the idea of princes, princesses and the fairytales that go with them. This meant you were getting married at least seventeen times a day, to whoever would play along, or whichever toy was closest. One day, my darling, you will meet your prince, and he better be absolutely amazing. If he’s not, call me and we’ll get that sorted out faster than you can think. I promise. You’ve got some serious backup when it comes to that.
There’s one last thing I want you to know, as you turn six. It’s about your name. If you read the baby books, there are two meanings for it. One is “crooked nose”. Your nose isn’t crooked. The other meaning is “beloved”. You are our beloved child, Cameron. You are loved beyond measure and you love right back in the same way. Never, ever forget that you are treasured and, no matter what, you are mama’s most precious gift, forever and ever.
Happy sixth birthday, Baby Cameron. You’re a big girl now.
Love,
Mama