The toddler turned three today. I got to watch it open its presents remotely, as it nearly brained its sister with the largest box. It seems for days it has been opening presents and being far more awesome in every photograph. I look up from my work to read text messages of the toddlers exploits on the back of a pony, or having its face painted into a butterfly as all the while it makes a balloon hat fit several occasions. Basically it’s living la vida loca, while I write risk assessments on how fire can be hurty, whilst listening to the bats that live in the wall of the office. At least we get to blow something up again this week – so that makes me happy.
I could not be in Melbourne for its birthday alas and this destroyed me. Being the sensitive bugger that I am, I may have been a little weepy at this; especially last night as I wouldn’t be able to hand it a present and give it a hug and kiss it and say happy birthday to its squashy little face this morning. I’m amazed three years have flicked past. I remember very well my life pre toddler, pre marriage and pre responsibility. I managed to side-step responsibility like a boss for a good forty years before the toddler won its first swimming race. But now I can’t imagine my life without this creature that never shuts up and is is entering its threenager years of moodiness and tantrums and waking up at two in the morning to sing the BLOODY SONG FROM FROZEN! Responsibility now has me firmly tethered by the very things that gave me responsibility.
I was lucky enough to see it briefly last weekend when I made a quick trip to Melbourne. We went to her mate Eliza’s party at BOUNCE! Which is an indoor trampoline park of chaos. Imagine hundreds of people bouncing up and down and only a couple of them can do something interesting – like a summersault. The toddler loved it and I loved watching the toddler – especially the bit when the staff were chasing it as it bounced from trampoline to trampoline across the section where the big people get to bounce. It was a NEIN on toddlers in that section. But the toddler didn’t know (or didn’t care) and was off like a three foot spring, bouncing amongst the breasts, balls and bellies of the larger humans with an enormous grin on its head.
Later that day I bought it some PJ Masks toys and got the look from the wife when I presented them to the toddler person. It was the same look she gave me when she told me I was irresponsible with money and took my credit card off me. Then took over all the money and now allocates me pocket money. Pocket money I spend on stupid shit for the toddler. And vodka.
Three years old. I was the first human the toddler ever saw. It was only up from that moment.
Happy birthday you amazing little human. I love that you never shut up – ever. I love that you want to ride on my shoulders on the way back from the shops as you munch a croissant and tell me stories. I don’t mind that you rest your feet on my head in bed, but tweaking my ears has to bloody stop. Your paintings, drawings, invisible friend and bird Twinkle. The way you can make up a story on the spot and carry it through along with the songs you love to sing. Your joy of dancing – especially in public as you give High Street a rendition of Let it Go. The smiles you bring out in people that have just met you and those further down the street who are about to. That you are so polite and introduce yourself to other children and ask to play with them before leading them astray. I love that you bring back the kid in me that will play tag with you in a crowded shopping mall and balls to anyone who disapproves.
My little mate. You are my sunrise and I love you.
Now go the F**K to sleep so your poor mother can watch the telly and have a glass of wine.
Danny Matier 