The morning I woke when you were born, was exactly as it is today, seven years ago. The sun was bright and glorious streaming into the window of our hospital room. A hospital bed with a view like no other, over the Thames and across to the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. You used to say you were born in Big Ben when you were two. Opposite Big Ben, we would tell you - but 'opposite' was just too big a word for your small mouth. So you were born in Big Ben for a very long time.
I woke up from a few hours of heavy sleep that day, sat up and there you were, I had forgotten I'd had a baby in the night - "What do we do now?" I asked your Daddy.
We hadn't a clue, like all first time parents. So he did the logistics, took some bags home, brought the car back and I fumbled with breastfeeding and gazed a lot at you - my brand new daughters face. He had bought me a Grazia magazine and a coffee, but nothing made sense that day - "I've just had a baby, OY WORLD, LOOK! I had a baby!" I wanted to shout.
You know this story because I tell you every year, you love hearing about how you swam out in a birth pool, and that your face was all squished and your nose all bent and that you didn't cry but stared intently at my face.
My Mum would tell me her story every year as well.
"Ooooh it was hot day when you were born, you were born at 4 o'clock and they had to keep the windows shut to keep the wasps out, " she would recall. She would then fill in the appropriate details of how she hated the gas and that Dad had a hangover and went home, and that it was really embarrassing being stitched up afterwards by the Doctors and that I was taken away from her for hours and she was so worried about me.
Because birth matters, we remember it forever. And when you are blowing out your candles we mothers are remembering your entrance into the world - and how awesome that was.
Have a lovely day, darling A.
All my love forever,