I’m watching a video of you taking your first steps – determined, quick, headstrong and potentially dangerous. Typically Myles. Facebook helpfully timelines the blurry vision: June 7, 2016. Is that possible?
Two years feels more like two decades. I can’t help thinking about all those ‘firsts’ that have happened in the past 24 months; like learning to feed yourself, constructing sentences, mastering your green bike, kicking a football (almost straight) and developing a talent for mimicry.
Sadly, you have still not learned to sleep through the night – or much past 6am. But my love for you is deeper and wider than ever and laced with a certain amount of astonishment. How did you learn so much about the world?
“Daddy, Australia is the smallest continent” he tells me on the bus one night. “And Antarctica is the coldest – penguins live there.”
Yes, you drive Mum and Dad to distraction some times, but none of this matters compared to the joy you bring us. And the endless laughter. You shriek with delight when I put a towel on my head and pretend to be a monster. “Go away, Monster, go away!” but we know you’ll soon beg for an encore performance.
Two years feels more like two decades. I can’t help thinking about all those ‘firsts’ that have happened in the past 24 months; like learning to feed yourself, constructing sentences, mastering your green bike, kicking a football (almost straight) and developing a talent for mimicry.
Sadly, you have still not learned to sleep through the night – or much past 6am. But my love for you is deeper and wider than ever and laced with a certain amount of astonishment. How did you learn so much about the world?
“Daddy, Australia is the smallest continent” he tells me on the bus one night. “And Antarctica is the coldest – penguins live there.”
Yes, you drive Mum and Dad to distraction some times, but none of this matters compared to the joy you bring us. And the endless laughter. You shriek with delight when I put a towel on my head and pretend to be a monster. “Go away, Monster, go away!” but we know you’ll soon beg for an encore performance.
Myles turns three on June 12. This birthday feels significant – at least for his parents, who have survived his fevers, vomiting, bed wetting, concrete stools, emergency visits to the hospital and other obstacles as he raced from babyhood to boyhood.
Myles ran before he walked and approaches the world with boundless delight and wonder. His world makes mine so much more bearable; in fact, life without Myles is unimaginable.
Even a trip to the supermarket becomes a mini adventure with my inquisitive, constantly chattering boy in tow. His approach to bike-riding is similarly vociferous as he leaps off the machine to shout down a storm water drain “Hello, hello!” as joggers, power walkers and adult cyclist veer off to the right and left.
En route to the park we stop to feed some chickens. I do a passable chicken noise, but Myles’s impersonation sounds more like a frog. It never gets any better – like his whistling. Charming quirks of a smart, inquisitive little boy who is growing up far too quickly.
Myles ran before he walked and approaches the world with boundless delight and wonder. His world makes mine so much more bearable; in fact, life without Myles is unimaginable.
Even a trip to the supermarket becomes a mini adventure with my inquisitive, constantly chattering boy in tow. His approach to bike-riding is similarly vociferous as he leaps off the machine to shout down a storm water drain “Hello, hello!” as joggers, power walkers and adult cyclist veer off to the right and left.
En route to the park we stop to feed some chickens. I do a passable chicken noise, but Myles’s impersonation sounds more like a frog. It never gets any better – like his whistling. Charming quirks of a smart, inquisitive little boy who is growing up far too quickly.
The past two years have been tough. Moving cities, a spell of homelessness, a bereavement, a patchy work situation – all the normal things that life throws up.
There have been times when I’ve felt ashamed that I cannot provide all of the material things that I would like for my son – spoil him a little more, give him a bigger room, a trip on a “big aeroplane” (he saw Peppa Pig on the plane once), but I know that he is growing up in a loving, secure family – with an extended network of friends and family who also love him as much as we do.
Ask Myles any weekend what he’d like to do and the answer is always: "I want to see Grandad and the chickens."
Over the past few weeks we’ve been looking at schools in Sydney, filling out application forms and, yes, handing over deposit cheques. The future is racing to meet us and I don’t like it much.
I want Myles to stay almost three for just a bit longer, so we can continue doing all the things we love – laughing at Shaun The Sheep, making bad chicken noises, chasing each other around the house, shouting out “Oh, Vina!” at the top of our voices and gazing up at the stars.
“Look Daddy, the moon!” he says as I wheel the pram down the hill at the end of the day. When I remember these days that is the image that will burn most brightly. My chatty little boy, the immaculate city skyline, a waxing moon and my heart brimming with love and delight.
There have been times when I’ve felt ashamed that I cannot provide all of the material things that I would like for my son – spoil him a little more, give him a bigger room, a trip on a “big aeroplane” (he saw Peppa Pig on the plane once), but I know that he is growing up in a loving, secure family – with an extended network of friends and family who also love him as much as we do.
Ask Myles any weekend what he’d like to do and the answer is always: "I want to see Grandad and the chickens."
Over the past few weeks we’ve been looking at schools in Sydney, filling out application forms and, yes, handing over deposit cheques. The future is racing to meet us and I don’t like it much.
I want Myles to stay almost three for just a bit longer, so we can continue doing all the things we love – laughing at Shaun The Sheep, making bad chicken noises, chasing each other around the house, shouting out “Oh, Vina!” at the top of our voices and gazing up at the stars.
“Look Daddy, the moon!” he says as I wheel the pram down the hill at the end of the day. When I remember these days that is the image that will burn most brightly. My chatty little boy, the immaculate city skyline, a waxing moon and my heart brimming with love and delight.
